


Archers on Fulton

by AlyKat



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Notting Hill (1999), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Clint owns an archery shop, Inspired By Tumblr, Inspired by a Movie, M/M, Phil's a movie star
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 09:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/pseuds/AlyKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton’s life was anything but exciting. He was stuck in a rut and had a love-life that made goldfish look like Don Juan. All of that changed though when Hollywood’s favorite actor strolled into his shop in Brooklyn and sent Clint’s world spinning again. It was a setup worthy of any mid-budget romantic-comedy, but could their story really have a happily ever after? Could a handsome Hollywood star really find love and happiness with an ordinary archery shop owner? Or were they doomed to be just another flash in the pan that wound up on news stand tabloid covers?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Very special thanks to [Ralkana](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana), [Selori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Selori/pseuds/Selori), and [Wintermute](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wintermute/pseuds/wintermute) for going through to beta this puppy for me. You all did a fantastic job...and I'm sorry for possibly ruining your hard work by sneaking back in to tinker with it a bit. *INNOCENT GRIN!* 
> 
> Also, this story was inspired by this [Tumblr post](http://alykat86.tumblr.com/post/51814602480/agntq-the-agent-clints-favourite-movie) and the thread of responses asking for a Notting Hill AU. I was inspired, so I did the thing. Only took me five months, but I did it! Gads I seriously hope this doesn't disappoint anyone...

* * *

 

Clint cursed under his breath as he tripped over yet another dog-chew toy littering the entryway. How his dog wound up with so many toys, he didn’t know. It was ridiculous. With a grumble and sigh, he kicked it off to the side before making his way further into the apartment. It wasn’t anything fancy, a typical bachelor pad with high-tech toys that honestly tended to get the better of him more times than not. The walls were bare brick with only a smattering of decorations. His couch wasn’t even anything overly comfortable, but hey, it was his and he made it work and that was what was important.

Wallet tossed onto the counter, he glanced off toward the couch and frowned. Lucky lay sprawled out on the cushions, paws in the air and tongue dangling from the side of his mouth as a young woman sat next to him, scratching his belly lazily. Blue-green eyes shifted back to his kitchen counter, finding his mail already sitting there, as he moved to pull a beer from the fridge.

“Ya know, breaking and entering’s illegal, right?” he questioned as he reached into a drawer for the bottle opener. The woman on the couch huffed and rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t break in. I was let in.”

Clint’s eyebrow quirked as he popped the cap off his beer and took a swig.

“Oh? By who?”

“Lucky.” Her response was automatic. Huffing a laugh, he shook his head as he moved to sit on the couch, shoving Lucky from his spot and settling down into the cushions himself.

“Would not surprise me...” There was another lazy pull from his beer before Clint handed it off to the redhead next to him. “Seriously, Nat. How’d you get in?”

Natasha took a drink, made a face and handed the bottle back to him. Without a word, she reached out and picked the remote off the coffee table and started flipping through the channels.

“You left your keys at the shop again. I let myself in.” She answered dryly as she kept her eyes glued to the screen. Beside her, Clint shrugged and nodded slightly, settling back and putting the bottle to his lips once more. That was an acceptable answer, especially as he’d been known to forget his keys at the shop from time to time. They got in the way when they were in his pocket and hurt when one shifted to stab him in the thigh while he sat.

“Also, I’m moving into your guest room.”

Clint leaned forward suddenly, spitting beer from his mouth as he coughed. His eyes wide, he swiped at his lips and chin with the cuff of his sleeve as he turned to stare at the woman. There was no way he’d just heard what he thought he heard.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Your guest room. I’m moving into it.”

“What’s wrong with your apartment?”

Natasha’s thin shoulders shrugged as a painted fingernail traced patterns into the arm of the couch. “Wasn’t actually my apartment. It was Harry’s. And as he’s decided to go and get himself a live-in girlfriend, the Princess was uncomfortable with him having a female roommate.”

“Nevermind the fact that you could give a rat’s ass about him?”

She hummed and nodded, finally glancing his way. “Correct. And since you’re desperately single,”

“Not desperate--”

“And are probably going to stay that way for the foreseeable future--”

“I love the confidence you have in me, Nat--”

“I’m moving into your guest room and you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

Clint sighed heavily. Sometimes he really hated having best friends. Especially ones who’d been there for him since his awkward, angst-filled teenage years. Downing the rest of his beer, he tossed the bottle into the trash across the room and moved to stand up.

“Then I guess I have no choice. Let me go clear my porn out of the closet and--”

“You don’t have any porn hidden anywhere, Barton. That’s half of what makes you so pathetic.”

“...we’re going to get along famously, aren’t we?”

Natasha’s lips curled into a mocking smug smile as she patted the couch, calling Lucky back up to lay by her again. With a non-committed hum, she nodded and turned her attention back to the TV. Rolling his eyes, Clint slunk his way up the roof-access stairs, slipping away to the solitude of his homemade archery range to unwind from the day.

~*~*~*~*~

The bell above the door jingled as Clint made his way into the shop the following morning. It was empty, as it usually was, save for the girl sitting behind the counter, head down on the smooth surface and a green ledger pushed off to the side. Her flashy designer sunglasses sat propped on her head and her nails sparkled with glittery purple polish. A groan rose up from her as he passed by, nudging her head with his elbow as he went.

“Morning, Katie-Kate,” He greeted, making his way to his back office to set his things down and turn his laptop on.

“Screw mornings. Screw you for being open in the morning,” came the muffled response. Biting off a laugh, Clint moved back into the main room and breezed by to flip their sign to “Open” before coming back to the sales counter.

“Mm... someone’s chipper today.”

Katie lifted her head from her arm, her piercing blue eyes narrowed threateningly at Clint. Her movements were slow and predatory as she sat up and reached to wave the ledger in her boss’ face.

“This. Do you know what this is? This is the store checkbook. Do you ever even bother to balance this thing?”

Clint feigned innocence and confusion as he took the book from her. Hip propped against the counter, he opened it and slowly started flipping through it. “I have a store checkbook? Huh...”

Katie’s hands flew up in frustration as she straightened to her full height--which admittedly wasn’t all that much--and moved around the edge of the counter. She grabbed the book back from Clint and jabbed her finger into his chest. Hard. And repeatedly.

“How can you be that far in debt and still have the door open? Seriously! How can you even still write out paychecks?”

Dodging out of the way, he spun around to hide behind the counter and stuff the ledger back under the top where it belonged. It was true, the store was in debt, big time, but he had Tony to thank for them still being open. It was actually the eccentric billionaire who they were in debt to.

“I stopped writing paychecks three months ago, Kate. Right about the time I went to pay myself and cash the check and the damn thing bounced. Which is why you haven’t been getting paid either.”

“You weren’t paying me to begin with.”

“And now you know why.”

Katie growled in aggravation as she reached over the counter and hit the sales button on the register. The drawer jutted out, hitting Clint in the side. Without a word, the teenager grabbed a twenty and slapped the tray closed again.

“I’m going for coffee. I’ll bring you back the change.”

“You better.”

A soft smile tugged at Clint’s lips as he watched the door shut behind the girl. Shaking his head, he whistled softly to himself as he turned to head back into his office. Just as he crossed the threshold, the bell above the door jangled again. It was too soon for Katie to be back with their drinks, and he was pretty sure no one was hiding anywhere. Course reversed, Clint stepped back out behind the counter and watched curiously as a man in a ball cap and sunglasses slid between two racks of quivers. There was something familiar about him, something that made Clint’s heart beat just a little bit faster and his curiosity spring forward.

Shifting awkwardly, he craned his neck to try and get a better look at the man. He wasn’t overly tall, about Clint’s height, maybe an inch or two shorter. A dark windbreaker covered a light gray T-shirt and faded, but clearly well cared for, jeans finished off the look. Jeans that definitely fit the man in all the right places. A backpack hung off his right shoulder, the tag from an airline still dangling off the hand strap on top. Still, despite his casual look, he didn’t at all appear to fit in. Not really, at least.

“Uh,” Clint paused to lick his lips and swallowed thickly. “Can I help you find something?”

The man’s head lifted from where he was running his fingers down the strap of a quiver. Lips pressed in a tight thin line, he shook his head.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you. Just...looking around.”

Clint nodded, his own lips pressed tightly as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Distantly, the bell rang out again, but Clint hardly noticed as the person slipped by him and into the back corner where the specialty arrows were on display. The ones specifically made for competition. Instead, Clint rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet for a moment, watching as the man moved around the display and shifted on to the row of trainer bows. More specifically, the cheapest of the bunch.

“Uh, that one is actually crap. It’s...I don’t even know why anyone would want to buy it.” He stammered, his mouth going dry on him all of a sudden. The mystery-man in glasses turned his attention away from the lineup to look Clint over slowly. A wave of warmth flooded the blond’s cheeks and ears as he shrugged nonchalantly. “Just in case you were, ya know, wondering or whatever. It really is more for like, the ten year old kids whose parents don’t think they’ll actually stick with it for very long.”

Even with the ball cap in place and the sunglasses blocking his eyes, Clint could tell the man had quirked a curious eyebrow at him. With a flirtatious smile on his face, he moved around the counter and stepped up next to the lineup. “But, if it’s trainers you’re interested in, this one is really nice. It’s built more for adult beginners. It’s got a medium pull weight so pretty much even a ninety-pound weakling wouldn’t be too pressed to draw back. It’s made of a higher quality wood so it can take a bit of a beating whereas that one would probably break in half if used in even a light breeze.”

“Right. Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Clint’s lips rolled between his teeth. His heart hammered in his chest because, holy fuck it really was him. He had his suspicions as to who the man was, but hearing him speak again confirmed it. It wasn’t possible for it to be, but it was. He took a deep breath and nodded.

“I’m Clint, by the way. Clint Barton. I own the place.” Hand extended out to the stranger awkwardly, Clint quickly pulled it back, clearing his throat as he snapped his fingers.

“Ya know, actually, if you’re interested,” He spun on his heels to dart back around the counter and pull a thin, colorful brochure out from under the register. “I have some information here for an archery clinic I teach on the weekends in the summer...” His voice trailed off as he glanced at the TV set up in his office. Damn it, Wade!

His eyes glancing back to the man, he flashed an apologetic smile before setting the pamphlet down and scooting off towards the back of the shop. “Sorry, excuse me for just a second, please? I’ll be right back.”

Arms folded over his chest, Clint slipped off towards the arrows and poked his head around a shelf. A taller man with dark brown hair stood, trailing his fingers down the Carbon Express Maxima arrows. Clint cleared his throat and lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Uh, hey Wade.”

Dark, wide eyes snapped to stare at him in horrified confusion and Clint couldn’t help mentally comparing the other to a deer caught in the headlights.

“Oh, hi Clint.”

“Hey, listen...could you do me a big favor and put the arrows back for me, please? Those are pretty expensive. I’d hate for them to literally walk out of here.”

“What arrows?”

“The arrows you currently have stuffed down your pants.” It was always an adventure whenever Wade Wilson snuck into the shop. Clint liked the guy, he really did, so he usually tried to cut him a break. Especially since it was obvious that Wade was maybe missing just a couple of bricks upstairs. Not in a dangerous “Look out, he’s gonna snap and kill us all” kind of way, just in a way that made him amusingly annoying at times.

“I don’t have any arrows down my pants. I’m just really happy to see you, Clint.”

And disturbingly strange at other times.

Lips pressed together, Clint closed his eyes to try and shake that particular mental image from his mind. “Really not interested, Wade.” He muttered, his hand raised to wipe down his face tiredly.

“Alright look...I’m gonna go back out there, and help the guy checking out the bows. And while I’m out there, you’re gonna put the arrows back and head on out of here. If you do that for me, I won’t call the cops on you. Deal?”

Wade blinked at Clint owlishly for a moment before his face broke into a wide grin and he nodded. With a slow, uncertain nod of his own, Clint turned to head back out towards the main part of the store again. The guy from before was still there, thank God! A quick glance at the security screen, and Clint gave a small smile as Wade pulled a cluster of arrows from under the cuff of his jeans and set them carefully on the rack.

He was going to have to wash and disinfect each and every one of those shafts.

Smile back in place, he turned back to the mystery man and gave a small shrug. “Sorry about that.”

“No, it’s alright. I’d been thinking of trying to sneak one of the quivers out, but changed my mind.”

A nervous, awkward laugh huffed from Clint as a goofy smile fell across his lips. God he hoped the stars weren’t shining too brightly in his eyes. He felt the tips of his ears turn pink again as the man stepped up to the counter and picked up the pamphlet Clint had laid down moments before. He was about to open his mouth and attempt to say something witty (though it probably would have come out sounding either creepy or make no sense whatsoever) when Wade stepped up to the counter.

“Excuse me,” he said, eyes wide as he stared at the other man.

Clint groaned inwardly and reached out to grab Wilson’s arm. The taller man shrugged him off and held a Sharpie out for the other customer. There was a brief flash of awkward panic that crossed the man’s face as he took a half step back.

“Yeah?”

“Could I have your autograph?”

“Wade, out.”

“No, it’s alright.” Reaching for the Sharpie, he glanced back up to Wade as he held his arm out to be signed. The lines on the man’s face deepened a bit as he tilted his head. “What’s your name?”

“Wade. Wade Wilson.”

“Right...”

Clint watched, his bottom lip sucked between his teeth as the black marker scribbled across Wade’s arm. He tried so hard not to laugh as the man finished signing the limb and handed the pen back to him, Wade too busy trying to read what the scribbles said to notice.

“Fuck. What’s it say? I can’t read that...is that--”

“It says ‘Dear Wade. Shoplifting is illegal in all parts of the world.’ And then that’s my name.”

Wade’s smile grew to a blinding level as he cradled his arm to his chest, like he’d just received the most precious gift in the world. Clint ducked his head to try to hide his own smile, glancing away so as not to stare at the guy in black.

“Oh man. Oh man that’s...wow...thank you! That’s...” Wade’s smile suddenly dropped and his tone turned serious, attempting at seductive. “Would you like to go back to my place with me?”

Clint’s head shot up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “WADE!”

To his credit, the other man simply shook his head, a sarcastic smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “Tempting, but...no. Thank you. I try not to sleep with strange criminals.”

Shoulders squaring, Clint moved out from behind the counter and gently pushed the would-be-thief towards the door. “And on that note. Goodbye, Wade. We’ll see you again soon, I’m sure. Thank you. Take care now. Buh-bye.”

He waited until he was sure Wade was out the door and heading away from the shop before he moved back to the register. There was an embarrassed, apologetic smile on his face as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. How the guy was even still standing there, waiting patiently, Clint didn’t know. Part of him soared at the thought that someone famous was standing in his shop, waiting for him. Not waiting in the sense that they were interested in him, because, well, he really wasn’t anything that anyone generally was interested in, but still.

As Clint stepped behind the counter, the man rapped his knuckles on the pamphlet gently before nodding towards the small selection of gift cards behind Clint.

“I’ll take the pamphlet, and also a fifty-dollar gift card, if you don’t mind?”

Smile bright and easy, Clint spun to grab one of the cards and ring it up.

“Not a problem. Not a problem at all. I’m really sorry about Wade. He’s harmless, mostly. We’re all pretty sure he was dropped head first down an elevator shaft...six or...seven...dozen times.” He rambled slightly as he slipped the card into a little purple envelope, scribbling a $50 on the amount line before reaching out for the cash presented to him.

There was a faint smile playing on the other man’s lips, one that made Clint’s stomach and heart flip-flop places and had his palms instantly sweating. His fingers stuttered as he tore the receipt from the register. He handed over the card and receipt, his heart freezing in his chest as fingers brushed lightly over the underside of his wrist.

“It’s alright. Really.” There was a quiet gentleness to the man’s voice, and if Clint were any more gay, he probably would have swooned. Instead, he swallowed thickly and flashed what he hoped was a natural-looking smile.

“Thank you for the information. I’ll pass it on to my niece when I give her the gift card.”

“You’re...you’re welcome. Absolutely. Thank you for uh...for stopping by.” His breath fell short as the man pocketed his change and the small purple envelope. Clint watched as, with another small smile and head nod, the other man turned and slipped out the door without so much as a spare glance back.

Slowly, Clint moved to stand at the front display window and look out down the street, watching as the man disappeared unnoticed into the crowd. He was still staring, a faint, wistful smile on his face when Katie bustled back in through the door. Two cups of coffee were in her hands and a scowl on her face.

“I swear to God, if another jerk tries to grab my ass and try to make it seem like it was an accident I’m going to...” She trailed off, eyebrows furrowed over the top of her sunglasses. “Hey, Barton, what’s with the puppy-dog eyes?”

“Katie. You’re never going to believe who was just in here.”

A perfectly sculpted brow rose as she handed over a piping hot cup of coffee. Clint took it from her and sipped it carefully as he waited for her to guess. When it became clear she wasn’t going to, he rolled his eyes and huffed dejectedly. Why were the women in his life such killjoys?

“Phil Coulson was just in here,” His voice held a soft reverence as he moved back for the counter. God the man had been even more gorgeous in person than he was on screen. True, he hadn’t been able to see much of his face because of the hat and glasses, but it was him, Clint was sure of it. It was him and he was absolutely to die for.

“Phil Coulson?” Katie asked, the tone of her voice obviously not believing him. “Phil Coulson the actor? Phil Coulson the man you’re obsessed with and creepily stalk?”

“I don’t creepily stalk him. I just follow his tag on Tumblr.”

“Close enough sometimes, Boss.”

Clint rolled his eyes, polishing off the last of his coffee in two large gulps while Katie continued to eye him suspiciously.

“What the hell would movie star Coulson be doing in here?”

“I don’t know. But he bought a fifty-dollar gift card and autographed Wade’s arm.”

Katie’s arms folded over her chest as she stared at him over the brim of her shades. It was a cool, calculating glare, one that was honed and perfected to make people feel uncomfortable. How she managed to get such a stare down pat in her short nineteen years, Clint would never know.

“He signed Wade’s arm? As in Wade Delusional Wilson? Jesus, Clint, the guy could have been any random shmuck off the street and Wade still would have asked for their autograph.”

“It was him, Katie. I swear to you! Check the security footage.”

“Boss, I hate to break it to you...but I think you’re cracking up. You’re becoming just as delusional as Wade.” Katie set her coffee cup down and reached up to cradle Clint’s cheek in her hand. Never mind the fact the man had a good twenty-years on her. Her blue eyes stared deep into his multi-colored ones and her expression took on a look similar to what would be used when explaining something to a small child. “Just because he happens to be in town filming some remake of a remake of some Shakespeare play, does not mean that Phil Coulson--the man of your sad, depressing wet dreams--would come into our pathetic little shop, without security swarming him, and buy a fifty-dollar gift card from us. I’m sorry Clint, that’s just not how things work in real life.”

Shoving her hand away from his face, Clint pushed back from the counter and moved to grab his keys from off his desk. Scowling, he brushed by the teen and started for the door. “Don’t patronize me, Katie. I’m not an idiot,” he muttered, not even bothering to spare her a glance. “I’m going for breakfast, I’ll be back later.”

Letting the door close heavily behind him, Clint stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned to start off for the bakery down the street. He wasn’t crazy. He knew who he’d seen, even if no one believed him, he knew. He had the security footage to prove it if need be. With a quiet, irritated sigh, he shuffled down the block and tried to push down the disappointment spoiling in his stomach and just get on with his day.

It wasn’t like he was ever going to actually see the man again anyway.

~*~*~*~*~

Clint should have been paying attention, he really should have been paying attention, or at least more than he was. His banana nut muffin in one hand and a chocolate milk in the other, his eyes roamed the street aimlessly, even as he rounded the corner heading back to his shop. In an instant, his muffin and milk were out of his hands and instead lying destroyed on the ground at his feet; a shout of surprise and disgust rising up just seconds before their demise.

His eyes wide, Clint stumbled backwards when he realized what had happened. Standing there before him, wearing half the muffin and most of the chocolate milk, was the man from earlier. Horror crossed his face as he quickly pulled the napkins from his pockets and reached for Phil’s shirt.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit...oh...Fuck, I’m so sorry!” Clint’s hand swiped at Phil’s shirt, trying desperately to clean up the mess he’d created. Phil’s hands reached out to swipe at his, swatting him away as Phil moved to step back from him.

“Do you mind? Just...don’t. Jesus Christ…” Phil grumbled, a frown etched into his face as he tried to shake the food from his shirt and jacket.

Flustered beyond all belief, Clint stammered and turned, glancing over his shoulder at where his apartment was before looking back to Phil.

“Sorry. I...look, I live just over there. You can come in and get cleaned up. Please, it’s the least I can do. I’m so sorry…”

Lips rolled together, Clint watched as Phil shook his hands clean of the milk before glancing back up to meet eyes. A small scowl was on his face, head turning to see where Clint had motioned off to.

“Where’s ‘just over there’? There’re like eight-thousand ‘theres’ here.”

Turning on his heels, Clint pointed kitty-corner from where they were standing, to the four-storey building that he called home. “Right there.”

He watched as Phil sighed heavily, obviously weighing his options before nodding and motioning for Clint to lead the way. Heart still hammering in his chest, Clint nodded and started across the street, glancing back quickly to make sure the other man was still following before he stepped back onto the sidewalk and bounced up the front steps of the building. Thank God Tony had paid to have that damn elevator repaired. He’d already spilled his breakfast all over Phil; he didn’t want to make the man have to walk up four flights of stairs just to get cleaned up, too. That’d be adding insult to injury.

Unlocking the door to his apartment, Clint mentally cursed as he kicked toys out of the way and scrambled to try to clean things up a little bit. The empty pizza boxes and half-finished bottles of beer suddenly found themselves being randomly shoved back into a partially-empty fridge, while random magazines and age-old newspapers were tossed into cupboards.

“Sorry, it’s kind of a...my friend moved in a couple weeks ago and we haven’t really...uhm...right, bathroom...uhm…” Turning quickly, he waved off to a door against the far left wall, just opposite his little kitchen area. “It’s right through there. If you need a shirt or something, I --”

“No. I’m good. Thanks.” Phil’s voice was short and curt, the same kind of tone he’d taken with Wade just an hour before. It cut through Clint like a knife, somehow making him feel about two feet tall with just four little words. Right. He’d made an idiot of himself, more than once already.

Mentally cursing himself out as Phil disappeared into the bathroom, Clint futzed around his kitchen and living room, picking up what he could and trying to make the place at least a bit more presentable. Not that it mattered much; he seemed to have made the worst impression on the actor ever possible and humiliated himself in so many different ways, it wasn’t even funny. All he could do was thank the Powers That Be that Natasha and Lucky were out and that Kate wasn’t around to see his incredible bombing.

The bathroom door opened a moment later, Phil stepping out in a clean blue T-shirt that looked sinfully soft and well loved, his backpack slung over his shoulder and windbreaker and soiled shirt balled up in his arms. His ballcap was gone and sunglasses hung from the V-collar of the T-shirt, his grey eyes regarding Clint carefully.

Clint stood dumbfounded for a moment as his eyes slowly moved from sneaker clad feet, up those gorgeous jeans and finally taking in arms that no doubt held more power than they appeared and back to the man’s face. His own cheeks flared with color as he quickly dug a plastic bag out from a drawer and handed it over.

“Here...so you don’t have to carry those around like that.”

Phil reached for it, eyes never leaving Clint’s face as he moved to put his probably-ruined clothes into the bag. The pair stood there staring at each other, Clint struggling hard to think of something to say in hopes of redeeming himself, while Phil appeared to be trying awkwardly to figure out how to excuse himself from the apartment.

Worrying at his bottom lip, Clint glanced at the fridge quickly before looking back to meet those grey-blue eyes he’d only seen in movies and magazines, never even imagining that he’d see them in real life.

“Uh, do you want something to drink? Some water?”

“No.”

“Soda? Beer?”

“No…”

“Chocolate mil--no...”

Phil’s eyes narrowed slightly, a look between amusement and threat of bodily harm crossing his face even as Clint cut himself off and shook his head.

“Chocolate milk is stupid, dunno why I thought it’d be good to drink it anyway. Uh...what about food? A sandwich?” He asked, darting to the fridge to open it and glance inside. “I have ham and turkey...corned beef...well, actually, that’s my roommate’s uh...yogurt? No, also roommate’s. Some strange styrofoam container holding what I can only assume to be forgotten leftovers, that actually should be turned over to the CDC or something…” He lifted his head, peeking out from over the top of the door only to be met with a tightlipped, semi-amused smirk.

“No.”

Awkwardly putting the container back into the fridge, Clint tilted his head and huffed softly.

“Do you always say ‘no’ to things?”

He watched as a mischievous glint shimmered in the other man’s eyes as he turned his face away in pretend thought. Looking back to Clint, he shrugged and shook his head.

“No.”

Clint laughed under his breath, ducking his head to look back at Phil from under dark, long lashes. The smile he got in return could only be described as flirty, or at least, he told himself it was. Which ultimately meant it probably wasn’t, but hey, a guy could dream, right?

Looking off towards the door, Phil hefted his backpack up on his shoulder a bit more before meeting Clint’s gaze again.

“I should really get going. Thanks for the help, I guess.”

The door to the refrigerator slipped from Clint’s hand, closing with a thunk and rattle of bottles. He nodded as he turned, starting for his apartment door and shrugged nonchalantly.

“Yeah, hey, not a problem. Glad I could help a little, anyways. Even if I did make a complete ass of myself and...yeah. It was my pleasure...to help, I mean. Obviously. I’m just gonna,” Clint pressed his lips together tightly, forcing himself to breathe as he opened the door for Phil and watched him step out into the hall.

Phil paused outside Clint’s apartment, a bemused smile tugging at his lips and crinkling the corners of his eyes just slightly. He watched Clint silently, and the archer felt as if he should say something, a form of goodbye or anything so long as it didn’t make a bigger ass out of himself.

“It was nice to meet you, by the way. Crazy, but nice…”

He watched as the crinkles deepened, Phil’s smile growing just a bit more despite him trying to flatten it out with tightening his lips. Without another word, the actor turned to start down the stairs, leaving Clint to let out a puff of breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and the door to click shut under his forehead.

“ _Crazy but nice?_ Dammit, Barton...you dummy…”

Clint bounced his head off the solid wood panel, once and then once again just for good measure. He often wondered how he’d ever had any sort of romantic relationship before in his life. Or _any_ sort of relationship for that matter. His social awkwardness had hit a whole new level, all in an attempt to play it cool and _not_ creep out the incredibly gorgeous, talented, remarkable and --did he mention gorgeous?-- man of his dreams.

Heart heavy, he pushed himself away from the door and had just started back towards his kitchen when a knock sounded behind him. He turned, confused for a moment and then just half expecting it to be a neighbor coming to pry and be nosey. What he wasn’t expecting to find, however, was Phil standing there, sunglasses back in place and a slight embarrassed smile.

“Hi…”

Clint blinked, jaw slacked and throat clicking. “H-Hi...again…”

For half a beat, the pair stared at each other before Phil motioned to his hair, slightly ruffled and so incredibly soft looking Clint had to shove his hands into his pockets just to keep from reaching out to touch it.

“I forgot my hat,” Phil admitted, stepping back into the apartment when Clint finally moved out of the way to let him back in.

Shaking himself out of his surprise, Clint turned to look back off towards his bathroom. “Oh...uh...right. Hang on, lemme just --”

He darted for the bathroom, finding the ballcap sitting on the edge of his sink, and no, he didn’t want to think about how right it looked sitting there, because then Kate would be right, and he _would be_ creepy obsessed stalker like. He wasn’t going to give her that satisfaction, even if his fingers did itch to take a picture just to keep as a memento. Grabbing the cap, Clint stepped back out into the main room, giving a shy smile as he held it up and stepped back to stand in front of Phil.

“Here you go.” He couldn’t help but smile, especially as Phil had once again taken his sunglasses off and Clint was able to look directly into those grey-blue eyes that held just a dart of brown jutting diagonally through them.

Phil’s fingers brushed over Clint’s hand as he took the ballcap back, eyes still lingering and a, “Thanks,” just barely audible.

His heart racing and throat tight, Clint couldn’t begin to imagine even in his wildest dreams that what happened next would ever be possible. One minute he was opening his mouth to say something he’d regret later, the next, he was backed up against the wall, warm, soft lips pressed to his own in an amazing and yet almost hesitant kiss. He tried to keep his hands to himself, afraid that if he touched, Phil would suddenly vanish and he’d find it’d been all a dream. Yet when gentle fingers found their way into his hair and just the faintest bit of tongue ran along his lips he knew it couldn’t be a dream. His dreams always stopped before he got to kiss the man in front of him.

Slowly, and all too soon, Phil released Clint’s hair and shifted back on his heels, taking an awkward step backwards. His hands went to the strap of his backpack, eyes wide as he searched Clint’s face and took yet another step back.

Lips rolled between his teeth, Clint ran his own tongue over his lips, trying to get his brain to jump start so he would stop staring at Phil like a moonstruck calf. He wondered if the look he saw on Phil’s face mirrored his own; the confused and startled expression that had his eyes darting down to lips and back up again quickly.

“I’m...sorry. A-About that whole ‘crazy but nice’...thing. I kind of suck at being social sometimes,” he finally managed to stammer out, brain still struggling to kick back in and process what had just happened.

Phil shook his head, blinking quickly. “Don’t worry about it. The styrofoam container of unknown origin was actually worse…”

Clint laughed softly, a relieved huff of air as some of the awkward tension surrounding them lifted and an honest little grin crept up on him. Part of him wanted to lean in for another kiss, to be the one to rest his hand against Phil’s cheek and find out if it was as warm and soft as it looked.

A bark and whine from the hallway shattered whatever little spell had fallen between them, causing Clint’s eyes to go comically wide as he frantically looked from door to Phil, to door and back again.

“Shhhhi-- that’s my roommate...uh...and dog. I’m sorry, in advance, I don’t know what’s goi--” His words cut out as the door opened and Lucky slunk in, sopping wet and smelling of park pond sludge, Natasha trailing in behind him looking just as good.

She ignored both men, cutting her way between them with a scowl and growl, banishing the dog up the stairs to the roof as she made her way to the bathroom.

“Men are pigs. Why are you attracted to them? I’m going lesbian. Your dog is also an idiot. I’m taking a shower and when I’m done, I’m painting your toenails and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

The door to the bathroom slammed shut, cutting off anything else she might have said and leaving both Clint and Phil blinking in bewilderment by the front door. Heaving a sigh of minor relief, Clint shrugged apologetically before quietly slipping out into the hall with Phil.

Outside the apartment, Phil looked back to Clint, leveling him with a slightly pleading look.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about this.”

“Yeah...no. No problem. People would think I’m crazier than Wade anyway if I told anyone. Uhm...I might remind myself about it every now and then, but I’m pretty sure I won’t believe it either. So...no worries.” Clint’s shoulders hunched slightly, if only to keep them from falling dramatically. He’d just been kissed by this near perfect stranger, and now was being sworn to secrecy about it it? Even when, really, not even his closest friends would believe him. He kept a small smile on his face as he shrugged, hoping to play off nonchalance at the request, despite slightly dying a little inside.

With a small, sad smile, Phil nodded curtly, slipping his sunglasses back onto his face and a quick tug to pull his ballcap back on before he turned to start down the stairs again. He paused at the top to cast a quick glance back at Clint, lifting his hand in a silent farewell just as he quickly moved to bounce down the stairs and disappear out of sight once more.


	2. Chapter 2

The days passed by slowly for Clint, his world sliding back to a semblance of normality. He’d wake up, eat, go to work, go home. Occasionally he’d have a run in with Wade, though a quick reminder that cops would be called generally detoured the man from causing too much trouble.

Try as he might to put that wonderful and remarkable chance encounter with Phil out of his mind, Clint couldn’t do it. How could he? Phil’s face was plastered on the cover of almost every magazine, billboard, and bus stop advertisement sign around the globe. He hit up the morning, daytime, and late night talk shows, of which Clint may or may not have shamelessly recorded each and every one just to see him smile.

Forgetting about Phil was about as good as trying to forget how to breathe.

~*~*~*~*~

A week had gone by, and Clint was convinced that whatever movie Phil had been in town filming had to have been finished up by then. The man was long gone, no doubt having forgotten all about him. He walked the streets around his block aimlessly, silently wishing that something could have been different. Maybe if he’d stuck with archery, he could have gotten a job in Hollywood, a stuntman or something? Then he could have met Phil that way and things could have turned out for the better. He could have asked the man out for coffee, or dinner, and maybe --

Clint’s thoughts scattered as he slammed into a solid body. At least he hadn’t had anything in his hands that time.

Stumbling to a stop, he turned, ready to either apologize or at the very least cast a threatening glare to whoever he’d run into. The words died on his lips when he met a familiar sight. Eyes wide, Clint quickly moved to straighten his own shirt and stepped back, horrified that he’d managed to slam into Phil Coulson yet again.

“God, I swear, I don’t make it a habit of running into people.”

Phil’s eyes lifted to meet Clint’s, a smile quickly replacing the mild aggravation from just a moment before. Tugging his own T-shirt straight again, Phil picked up the card envelope he’d dropped, securing it in his back pocket as he shook his head.

“I’d really like to believe that.” A teasing smirk played on his lips “But if it happens a third time, I’m going to have to call you on it.”

Clint laughed nervously, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck while he shifted from foot to foot. “At least I didn’t smash my breakfast into you?”

“Thank God for small mercies. Though, given that it’s six-thirty at night, I’d be concerned if you had.” Phil’s smirk curled more at the corners as he shifted his weight to his left foot, eyebrow quirked.

“What? You’ve never had brinner?”

“Fair point.”

Grinning brightly, Clint slipped his hands into his pockets, a comfortable moment of silence falling between them. A beat later, their mouths opened, inadvertently talking over each other.

“I should--”

“Would you--”

“You go,” they both urged together. Phil laughed as Clint’s ears burned bright red, both of them still speaking in time with each other. When it became clear Phil was going to keep his mouth closed, Clint took a breath to gather his courage and dive in.

“Would you like to go grab a bite to eat with me?” The question was rushed; the explanation even more so as he waved off to a small deli across the street. “Just over there. It’s not crowded or anything and I don’t think anyone would --”

“I’d love to,” Phil answered, cutting him off with a partial smile that quickly turned apologetic, “but I have a party I actually need to get to. For my niece.”

Clint tried not to let his shoulders drop too noticeably, the hopefulness on his face replaced with disappointment while his heart sank to his feet. At least he could take comfort in knowing that Phil had said he’d like to and seemed to actually mean it. Still, that only curbed his disappointment a little.

“Oh. That’s okay. Family’s important stuff. I understand,” Or at least could pretend he did anyway. “I should let you get going then.”

Phil nodded, bottom lip tugged between his teeth in thought. “If you’re not busy, you could come with me? They live over in the Carroll Gardens neighborhood. Pretty sure my niece wouldn’t mind, so long as you don’t mind her talking your ear off about archery.”

Hope rushed through Clint’s chest, eyes wide and his heart suddenly jumping into his throat at the offer. He was willing to put up with a kid talking his ear off if it meant getting to spend time with Phil! His spirits instantly lifted and his shoulders squared while he gave a quick nod, his eyes all lit up as he grinned from ear to ear.

“That’s --I’d love to. I don’t mind at all. If you’re sure it’d be alright and everything.”

“It’ll be fine. Believe me, I think they’d actually be thrilled with the fact I’m bringing by someone from around here and not another actor or something.” A faint flush rose up on Phil’s cheeks as he looked away quickly in embarrassment, his own hands tucked into his jeans pockets.

Clint wasn’t about to call him on it, or question it. Why look a gift horse in the mouth? He was being invited to a family party with a man he really had only just met. Yet despite having no knowledge of each other, there was some underlying connection Clint felt tugging at him. It was more than just being starstruck; it was the feeling he had when he’d met his ex for the first time, and, obviously, if Phil was inviting him out, the feeling had to be at least kind of returned.

Turning, he nudged Phil’s shoulder with his own, casting him a friendly smile. “In that case, I’d love to.”

Phil’s smile was one that could light up a hundred thousand street lights, and one that was rarely ever captured in photos, movies, or interviews. It was a real smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, showed off a row of perfect teeth and sent his whole face aglow. And Clint had been the one to put that smile there.

“Great. That’s, that’s really great.”

Smile still in place, Clint stepped up to Phil’s side, arm brushing against arm as he waved down a cab for them. His friends were never going to believe him.

~*~*~*~*~  
Music sounded from inside the brownstone as Clint and Phil made their way up the front steps. He’d been briefed by Phil on the way there on names and who might be there and was a little thankful to find out that there shouldn’t be many people there. Just a small, family-and-friends gathering.

It was nice getting to see the side to Phil no one else got to see. The one hidden from the media and over-obnoxious talk show hosts and was reserved for his family and close friends. To say Clint felt honored was an extreme understatement, especially when the beautiful oak and glass door opened and the woman inside hardly gave either of them a second glance.

“Hey Phil, c’mon in. Hailey’s in the living room on the couch. Need to wrangle the terrors,” A whip of long blond hair fanned out around a tired face as the woman spun on her heels and turned to leave the two men to enter the house on their own.

“Sister-in-law,” Phil explained, letting Clint in first before stepping in and closing the door behind him.

A homemade “Welcome Home” banner hung above the living room archway; balloons, flowers, streamers and teddy bears littered the narrow entry hall and staircase. Get Well cards sat opened and on display on any flat surface available. Streamers were strung up in every doorway in obnoxious combinations of neon green, orange and pink, and Clint almost wished he’d brought his sunglasses with him.

Phil’s hand gently nudged Clint’s shoulder, pushing him off towards the living room and to the teen girl lying propped up on the couch. Her dark hair was barely a crew cut with a fresh, pink scar running from just behind her left ear and disappearing behind her head. A bright orange cast was on her left arm, already scattered with signatures and well wishes.

Clint let Phil approach first and couldn’t help the swell of warmth curling around in his chest, watching the man lean in to gently give the girl a hug and kiss on the forehead. Hailey’s cool pale eyes were droopy and filled with pain and exhaustion as she hugged her uncle back carefully.

“Hi, Uncle Phil,” she mumbled, slumping back into the nest of pillows that had been formed around her.

Carefully, Phil’s hand smoothed down the right side of her head. “Hey kiddo. How’re you holding up?”

Hailey’s shoulders bumped up and then down in a barely noticeable way. “Tired. Glad to be home. Thank you for--” Her eyes turned to glance to Clint, words trailing off as her expression turned to one that was near comical. “Oh. My. God. You...you’re...Uncle Phil, that’s...you…”

Heat flashed across Clint’s face as he shifted awkwardly and reached to rub the back of his neck, head ducked and looking between girl and man quickly. He saw the confusion deepen the lines on Phil’s face, a furrow appearing between his brows as he turned his full attention back to Clint.

“This is Clint. He--”

“Clint Barton? _THE_ Clint Barton? _The_ Clint Barton who took gold three games in a row in men's individual archery at the summer Olympics, and twice with team? You, you’ve been on the cover of Archery Focus magazine and featured in Sports Illustrated more times than I can count! And you’re standing in my living room. Oh my God. Oh. My. God.”

Bewilderment and amusement met Clint when he finally lifted his eyes and looked back to Phil. He shrugged, nonchalantly like it was no big deal, hands still tucked into his pockets.

“That was a pretty long time ago, but yeah. I might have done that,” He shrugged again, shifting his weight from foot to foot as Hailey continued to gape at him and Phil let out a full laugh.

“You’ve met Hugh Jackman, Ryan Reynolds, and Johnny Depp...and couldn’t have cared less. But this you’re having a stroke over.” He chided playfully, shaking his head and looking back to Clint, arms splayed out at his sides. “I guess I should wait to give her the gift card to your shop, maybe?”

They both flinched and cringed as a shrill squeal pierced the air, followed quickly by the sounds of over-emotional crying. Tears were streaming down the seventeen-year-old’s face as she tried to hide in her hands, careful not to whack herself with her cast while the thunder of a herd of feet came storming into the room.

“What happened? Hailey what’s wrong?” The woman from before was at her daughter’s side in an instant while a man bearing a striking resemblance to Phil stepped up next to him, thwacking him upside the head.

“What’d you do, Phil? Jesus!”

“I didn’t...nothing!” Phil ducked and spun out of the way of another incoming head slap, moving quickly to stand by Clint’s side in hopes of being far enough out of reach not to get smacked again.

“He...H-He...th-that’s...and he...I…” Words had failed Hailey as she turned in her mother’s arms to sob into her shoulder. Looking over her shoulder at her brother-in-law, Maggie Coulson finally laid eyes on the man next to him, recognition setting in after a moment.

She turned a smile first to Phil, then to her husband. “He didn’t do anything, Alex. Except bring her lifelong hero into the house with him.”

Suddenly, it was Clint’s turn to look surprised. He blinked owlishly as he shook his head and swallowed hard.

“Hero? No, I don’t think I sh--”

“Pretty sure Hailey was born knowing who you were. You’re her hero,” Phil’s brother stepped forward, hand extended and a small smile on his face. “Alex Coulson, nice to meet you.”

Clint awkwardly shook Alex’s hand, looking to Phil for support and getting a mildly amused smile in return. Turning his attention back to Alex, Clint gave a small smile of his own as he returned the greeting and sentiment. There was a small, flailing part of him that was beside himself at the fact he’d only just really met Phil, and now he was meeting the man’s family!

He might have maybe accidentally fallen a little bit in love.

Maybe.

Maybe a little bit completely in love.

~*~*~*~*~

  
Stepping out into the night air, Clint tucked his hands into his pockets and bounced down the front stairs to wait on the sidewalk as Phil said his goodbyes. He’d enjoyed meeting the man’s family; they were good, kind, down-to-earth people who really seemed to do their best to keep Phil from getting a big ego, and Hailey had been sweet and overzealous about asking him about everything under the sun and practically proposing to him before he left. That was a bit awkward, but he’d played it off well.

When Phil finally joined him, they both turned, slowly strolling down the block a bit in comfortable, companionable silence. It was a nice night out, and even as Clint wasn’t sure where in New York Phil was staying, he didn’t mind the chance to just walk quietly with him for a little while. The streets were relatively clear and peaceful, which made being able to do such a thing with the movie star feel almost normal, like it was something they did every night and no one even batted an eye about it anymore.

It was only after a few blocks that Phil finally glanced to Clint and tilted his head questioningly.

“What’d you do?” He asked quietly, his own hands stuffed into his pockets.

Clint blinked and looked back at him.

“I’m sorry?”

“What did you do? That you don’t think you should be Hailey’s hero and stopped you from being in any more Olympic games?”

Clint’s eyes dropped, hands coming out of his pockets to fidget together for a moment in front of him. It wasn’t something he talked about much, or even liked to remember, but he knew he couldn’t run from it forever.

“I uhm, I made some poor life choices, let’s say,” He started, pausing to take a deep breath before he continued. “I was training for a competition and screwed up my shoulder pretty bad. Couldn’t draw as much as I usually did. I was complaining about it and some guy was like, ‘Here. Take this. It’ll help make you feel better and you’ll be able to draw weight again.’ I was still pretty young, stupid, so I didn’t question it. I just took it, I figured it was something safe, ya know?”

“It wasn’t?”

Clint shook his head.

“What was it?”

“Steroids, as it turns out. Had a sudden and random drug test about an hour or so after I took it. An official had been tipped that ‘someone’ had been seen taking enhancement drugs. Turns out that ‘someone’ was me. Got tossed out, fined off my ass, and sentenced to rehab even though I kept telling them I didn’t know it was steroids.”

“And you haven’t competed since?”

“Not at the professional level, no.”

Phil frowned, his hand coming out of his pocket to gently squeeze Clint’s elbow. It was comforting and reassuring, and everything Clint had needed for so long. He tossed the other man an easy smile that didn’t quite make his eyes and shrugged.

“Shit happens. C’est la vie.” Pulling in another deep breath, Clint turned himself just enough as they walked to get a better look at Phil. “So, what happened to your niece? I didn’t hear anyone talk about it and I didn’t wanna accidentally upset anyone by asking about it.”

His hand slipping back into his jeans pocket, Phil watched straight ahead as they walked. “She was on a school trip a month or so back. Was crossing a street with a friend to head back to the bus and some idiot texting ran her down when he flew through the stop sign. She was in a coma for a couple of days, but otherwise got off pretty easy with what injuries she did get.”

“Wow,” Clint’s eyes widened as he gave a small whistle and looked back out ahead of them. Atlantic Ave was just a block or two away, from there they could turn right to continue walking down to his apartment. It wasn’t going to be much more than a thirty minute walk.

Deciding to try his luck, Clint bit his lip and looked back to Phil as they came to a stop at Atlantic Ave. Meeting his eyes, he motioned off down the other direction.

“I live just a little while down that way. Do you...maybe wanna, come over?” His voice trembled slightly with nerves, throat tight and dry. He knew the answer, however, as soon as he saw the apologetic look come over Phil’s eyes again.

“I shouldn’t. I have people who wouldn’t be very happy if I did right now.”

Clint nodded.

“Right, no. That’s fine. I’ll just be thankful for tonight then and thank you for inviting me along. Your brother and his family are real nice.”

“Yeah,” Phil answered softly, his voice full of quiet longing. “Thank you for putting up with Hailey’s fangirl sobbing.”

A soft laugh huffed out of Clint as he shook his head and shrugged.

“Any time.”

Worrying at his bottom lip, Clint stood still for a moment before he found himself with Phil’s lips on his again. This time, he returned the action--hesitantly, but he returned it. Kissing back slowly, not wanting it to have to end, Clint brought his hand up to gently cup the back of Phil’s neck and play with the soft, thin hair on his nape. His tongue slipped out to trace the seam of the other man’s lips, losing himself in the moment and the feel of Phil under hand.

Before Clint could do much more though, Phil was pulling back, tugging gently on his bottom lip as if to say he really wanted things to go further, but they just couldn’t. Face flushed, Clint swallowed hard. His eyes slowly blinked open to meet with Phil’s gaze, watching carefully until the moment he saw the resignation settle across the man’s features, dulling his eyes just slightly. As much as neither man wanted to let go, Clint was the first to take a step back.

“You...should really catch a cab back to your hotel. It’s probably not a good idea for you to walk back on your own.”

Phil turned to look over his shoulder towards the Hudson River. “No, probably not. Not even sure how to get back there on my own anyway...so...you’re probably right.”

Clint took another step back, needing to put distance between them before he tackled the man and just begged him to go home with him. He turned as a couple of taxis went by them before one finally stopped and waited. Lifting his eyes, Clint reached out to shyly tangle their fingers together.

“Will I get to see you again before you have to leave?” he asked hopefully.

“I don’t know. We’re supposed to be done shooting in a couple of days.” Phil reached for the handle on the back door, his eyes downcast as he carefully started to slide into the backseat. “I’d like to say absolutely, but...best I can do is say I hope so?”

“I can live with ‘hope so’.”

As Phil closed the door, he rolled the window down quickly. “If I don’t see you, you know where my brother lives. Can always relay messages through him or something?”

Laughter bubbled up in Clint’s chest. God, how was this his life? Why was it that he’d finally found a guy who was everything he’d ever been looking for and then some, but he was probably one of _the most_ unattainable guys ever? Everyone wanted a piece of him, and somewhere out there, there was some lucky person who did get to have him for themselves; all his private little smiles and chuckles, his strong protective arms to hold them with. That person wasn’t Clint though. It probably never would be, either.

“Pretty sure I’ll be seeing a lot of them now that Hailey knows where my shop is.”

Phil’s returning smile was soft but pleasant, eyes sad.

“If I don’t see you, take care of yourself, Clint.”

The cab pulled away from the curb and back into the flow of nighttime traffic, leaving Clint to stand alone on the sidewalk, watching until it completely disappeared from sight, blending in with the rest of the New York City yellow taxis. With a dreamy smile on his face and feeling like he was walking on clouds, Clint did a spin on his heels before starting off back to his own apartment again.

~*~*~*~*~

“So, I heard through the grapevine that James is back in town,” Clint mumbled around his spoonful of Lucky Charms three days after his not-really-a-date-date with Phil. Natasha, to her credit, didn’t so much as arch a brow at the mention of her old boyfriend.

“He might be. What about it?”

Clint shrugged, stuffing more marshmallows in his mouth. “Thought you might like to know. See if you could get back together with him and move into his place and out of mine.”

That did get an eyebrow raise, along with a mildly amused smirk. Cool green eyes watched him before Natasha huffed a quiet not-laugh and looked back down to where she was murdering a grapefruit.

“Why should I? It isn’t like you’re getting enough action to warrant me moving out. Besides, from what I heard, he was going to be staying with Steve until he was on his feet again.”

“Good. Go move in with them then, so maybe I _can_ get some.”

“It would never happen. You’ve forgotten how to get any. You didn’t even sleep with Phil Coulson, the man you’ve been infatuated with for the past how many years? Fifteen? Twenty?”

A small rainbow marshmallow shoot through the air, sticking itself to Natasha’s bright red hair. It didn’t have quite the effect Clint had hoped for, but it was somewhat gratifying, at least.

“Just because he makes more money for one film than I could ever make in thirty lifetimes, doesn’t mean he’s the type of guy who just jumps into bed with someone he’d just met. Okay? He’s not that kinda guy, and I happen to be a gentleman.”

Natasha snorted and barked an un-ladylike laugh at that, earning her a pointed glare.

“Alright, fine! I may have tried to invite him back here the other night, but he couldn’t. Which is understandable. People would have flipped if he hadn’t gone back to his hotel and strolled in the next morning looking all sexed up. It would have caused him trouble, and I didn’t want to--”

The call box next to his door buzzed, cutting him off abruptly. Glancing to Natasha, he frowned. “Were you expecting something or someone?”

“No.”

It buzzed again, and a third time, longer than the first two. His face scrunched in confusion, Clint pushed himself away from the breakfast counter. His thumb smashed into the intercom button, bringing the sound of the street below into his apartment.

“Yeah?”

“Clint? It’s me --uh, Phil. Can I come up? Please?” Phil’s voice suddenly replaced the sounds of the passing cars and had Clint frantically slapping his palm against the door release almost before Phil had even finished talking.

“Unlocked, c’mon up!” His heart rocketed in his chest as he let up on the intercom button and scrambled to pick things up a bit while Phil made his way inside and up to fourth floor. All the while, Natasha sat on the kitchen counter, watching her best friend rush around in a panic, one leg crossed over the other at the knee, and skillfully resting her half a grapefruit on her knee.

“Missed a spot.”

“Bite me. And get off my counter, for the love of God, he’s gonna be here in--” The knock on the door cut him off and drained the color from his face. For a moment, Clint was frozen in place, his brain not quite able to process what was going on. This definitely wasn’t how his life went.

Another knock and Clint was darting back to open the door, a wide, surprised smile on his face. He stood there grinning like a fool for a moment before he stepped aside to let Phil in.

“Sorry, I needed somewhere to go...and here was the only place I could think of. I didn’t mean to wake you or anything,” Phil apologized, taking in Clint’s baggy clothes and bedhead hair sticking up in all directions.

Natasha hid her laugh behind a fake cough as she gracefully slid herself back to the floor and tossed the rest of her fruit into the garbage. She came around the breakfast counter fluidly, coming to a stop in front of Phil to look him over head to toe, nodding just barely in approval.

“Natasha Romanov. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ll leave you two alone.” Clint swore the smile on her face was like that of the Cheshire Cat’s and that the twisted gears in her head were already starting to turn.

Her eyes turning back to Clint, she smirked all the more. “I think I will go visit Steve and see how James is doing. I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up.”

“Great. Tell ‘em hi for me. See you later. Go.” Clint wasted no time in nudging her out the door, tossing her keys to her as an afterthought before locking the door once she’d been banished to the hallway.

He stood facing the door for a moment, trying to reboot his brain and get himself back in check. Taking a deep breath and feeling himself relax a bit, Clint turned, a toned-down version of his smile from earlier back in place; at least it was until he found the other man folded down into his couch, elbows on his knees and forehead resting on the heels of his hands. He looked tired and resigned, like he was nearly on the edge of some kind of breakdown.

“Phil? Wh--”

“Eight times,” Phil mumbled down towards his lap. “Eight times, my brother and his family have had to move, because of me. Because I think it actually a good idea to go and visit them, and be like a normal person and sleep on their couch instead of the cushy hotel in Battery Park I’d been given. Now, it’s going to be nine times.”

Confused and worried, Clint settled himself on the coffee table in front of the couch, his knee bumping into Phil’s.

“I think I missed part of this conversation. Mind restarting it and maybe telling me why your brother and them are going to have to move and how it’s your fault?”

Phil’s eyes lifted, showing the despair and aggravation he usually kept buried deep inside. Clint almost instantly regretted asking.

“The paparazzi, Clint. Someway, somehow, they always figure out where I go. I went to Alex and Maggie’s for a night of normalcy, and woke up to their boys yelling about people having climbed into their front garden and trying to take pictures into the living room where I was asleep. They harassed Hailey on her way to school, followed her and Maggie the entire way, asking about the accident and if it’d caused any permanent damage,” Phil ran his hand down his face as he stood up and paced the living room.

“They asked why her hair was shaved off. Why she doesn’t just wear a wig to hide the scarring or a hat or something. By the time she got to school she was in tears. Maggie called the cops, but, hey it’s a so-called free country, right? Freedom of press and all that bullshit. Those guys can do whatever they want because Hailey’s the niece of a big name celebrity so that must make it okay to follow and harass her too, right? After all, it’s okay for them to camp out on my lawn like stalkers, so it should be okay to do that to my family, too.”

Clint watched Phil storm from one end of the room to the other, his body language rigid and tense. The wild and near frantic hand movements were only there to cover for the fact they were actually shaking like a leaf. Phil’s hair stuck up in places from where he’d run his fingers through it in frustration and his T-shirt was only partially tucked in anymore. He was the perfect picture of a man at his wit’s end.

Standing up, Clint moved to catch Phil as he passed by him. His hand caught Phil’s arm and held it gently as he turned him so they were facing each other. Reaching up, Clint rested his hand against a slightly stubbled cheek, his thumb brushing lightly just under Phil’s eye. He waited until the man made eye contact with him before giving a small, reassuring smile.

“It’s going to be okay, Phil. I promise. Hailey’s a strong kid, she’ll bounce back. And if not, I’ll personally camp out on the roof across from their house and start shooting arrows into the asses of any fucking photographer that even comes near ‘em.”

Phil huffed a half laugh as he shook his head, eyes glancing away even as some of the hurt faded from sight. His hand found its way to Clint’s hip and Clint very carefully ignored the fact that Phil’s thumb was rubbing against bare skin under his shirt instead of fabric.

“Look,” Clint soothed, “if it’s normalcy you’re wanting, just stay here for a couple of days. Pretty sure the vultures won’t think to look for you in a four-storey, run-down apartment in crummy old Bed-Stuy anyway. And if they are dumb enough to, well, then it’s their own damn faults if they get robbed or something, right? Face it, this isn’t exactly high class society around here.”

“What about your roommate?”

“Nat? Nah, Nat’s fine. She won’t tell anyone you’re here. Hell, she probably won’t even be back for a couple of days.”

A moment of quiet indecision crossed Phil’s face as he glanced around Clint’s apartment and finally looked back to him. The moment a choice was made, Clint knew it just by watching the light change in Phil’s eyes. Quiet desperation was replaced with hope and gratitude as the actor nodded.

“Thank you, Clint. I really appreciate this. It...you don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve had someone not related to me treat me like a normal person. I --”

Clint shook his head, cutting Phil off before he could go any further.

“You _are_ a normal person, Phil. Starting right now, you’re just plain ol’ boring Phil, who is going to go take a nice hot shower, curl up in some borrowed sweats and just forget about the rest of the world for a few days. Got it?”

A smile crept up on the corners of Phil’s mouth, crinkling his eyes and he huffed another soft laugh. Leaning in, he rested his forehead against Clint’s, letting his eyes close and pulling in a deep breath for the first time since getting there.

“God, how are you even real?” he murmured, breath warm and gentle against Clint’s lips.

“Dunno. Kind of sure this is all some weird, incredible dream right now. So, ya know…”

Laughing again, Phil tilted his head just enough to press a kiss to Clint’s mouth before pulling back. At least there was a smile on his face when he released Clint and started for the bathroom.

“Can I get those sweats I was promised now, please?” he asked, almost slyly, a partial smirk on his face as he glanced back over his shoulder at Clint.

Jumping a bit, Clint nodded.

“Right! Sweats! Coming right up!”

~*~*~*~*~

Clint felt as if he’d stepped into the best dream of his life the whole rest of the day. It was beyond surreal to see Phil wandering barefoot around the apartment, dressed in his old sweatpants and faded out, vintage Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back T-shirt. To be moving around each other in the kitchen, swapping places between the fridge, stove, and sink while making lunch. To hear the stereo blasting out old Aerosmith tunes that they both sung poorly to and danced even worse to.

When Clint came back from taking Lucky for his walk, he found Phil stretched out on the couch, one foot dangling off the armrest and remote on his chest, and it looked so right, so normal, that Clint didn’t even bother scolding Lucky for pouncing on the man. They shared the couch, the dog nestled between them and their hands occasionally brushing over each other’s as they petted across soft fur, sometimes even just letting their fingers tangle together sitting on Lucky’s gently rising and falling stomach.

Dinner was pizza, breadsticks and beer; Phil and Clint both fought for the last slice of pizza only to ultimately lose it to Lucky and fell over each other laughing about it. Their conversations ranged from the mundane everyday talk about Clint’s shop and how business was going, to goofy clauses in Phil’s contracts, to the more obscure “If you could be an M&M, what kind and color would you be?”

At quarter past twelve, they finally said their goodnights; Phil retreating to Clint’s bedroom and Clint being a good guy by taking the couch, fighting Lucky for who got more space on the furniture. He won, but at a price. Lucky found his way to sleeping on Clint’s back and head, making sure his person was well aware of his dislike for the situation.

Clint sighed heavily, green-blue eyes staring longingly at his bedroom door and wishing he were on his bed instead of the couch. At least if he were there, he’d be more than okay with it if Phil wanted to sleep on top of him. He’d even be fine with having the man’s breath on his neck. Hell, he’d welcome it! Anything to find out what it’d be like to spend a night in bed with him.

Groaning pathetically, he rolled his face into the pillow he’d brought out of his room and struggled to banish all thoughts of Phil being partially clothed on his bed. It was only going to lead to madness and late-night cold showers, neither of which were things Clint particularly wanted.

He was very nearly asleep when he heard the squeaky board just outside his room creak under a step, followed by a very quiet curse. Cracking open one eye, Clint watched as Phil crept closer to the couch, attempting to lure Lucky off his back with quiet murmurs and promises of treats if he’d just let Clint breathe again. The dog, though clearly unimpressed with the offerings, finally slid from his owner’s back and onto the ground, slinking off to nudge open Natasha’s door and sleep on her bed instead.

“Thanks,” Clint murmured, face still partially hidden by the pillow.

“Didn’t really want to have to explain to the cops why you were found suffocated to death in the morning,” came Phil’s quiet response.

Chuckling, Clint rolled onto his side, only to have the breath catch in his chest. Moonlight flooded his living room, illuminating Phil in its silvery-blue glow and sending his slate grey eyes sparkling. He was absolutely gorgeous standing there in front of him, dressed only in his own boxers and Clint’s old T-shirt; it was a combination of their clothes that stole Clint’s breath away and had him sitting up quickly.

His own eyes shone in the dim light as they locked onto Phil’s gaze, his throat suddenly tight and the air around him thin. The man in front of him looked so soft and inviting, vulnerable and yet so very much in place with everything else in Clint’s meager apartment. Phil looked like he belonged there and Clint wanted so much for it to be true. Standing, he took a step forward, emboldened when Phil didn’t shy away from him.

Hand cupping Phil’s cheek, Clint marveled at the feel of the soft, bristly stubble rubbing against his palm as Phil leaned into the touch, his eyes closed and lips just slightly parted. It was too beautiful a sight to be true, and yet Clint could feel the warmth under his fingers and the puff of breath against his wrist. He leaned in slowly, giving Phil plenty of time to pull away and change his mind, pleasantly surprised when instead he was met halfway. The kiss was soft and exploratory, their lips parting at the same time to let their tongues out, lightly wrapping around each other and chasing the other back into its own mouth to explore.

Clint’s lips trailed down Phil’s jawbone to his neck, mouthing his way down to lick and gently nibble at the place where neck met shoulder. His hands slid their way up the back of Phil’s shirt, splaying out flat against subtle muscles as he nuzzled into the man’s ear, breathing warm and heavy over it and reveling in the quiet moan Phil gave. He could feel Phil’s hands curling into the hem of his shirt, already working to pull it up and off him and he stepped back just long enough for it to come over his head and drop down to the floor.

Warm lips brushed over Clint’s neck, the tip of a tongue trailed lightly up to his ear before the lobe was sucked between teeth and teased. It’d been far too long since Clint had last been with anyone, the touches and kisses were nearly enough to bring him off in his boxers like some inexperienced high-schooler.

He groaned softly when he felt Phil’s teeth scrape along the sensitive skin just below his ear, a murmured “Come to bed with me?” breathed against his neck in a quiet plea.

Clint could only nod dumbly, his hand catching Phil’s, pulling him into the bedroom with both of them trapped in a near trance-like state. With the door closed and locked behind them, Clint allowed himself to make a bit more noise when Phil latched onto his bare collarbone and began to worry a deep mark there, making sure it’d be hidden from sight.

Fingers curled into Phil’s borrowed shirt, carefully tugging it off and letting it fall before hooking into the elastic band of the man’s boxers, slipping them off lean hips to pool at their feet. Clint’s hands slid over the bare skin of Phil’s hips and side, carefully pulling their bodies flush, only the thin fabric of his own boxers separating them.

Their hands and bodies moved in time, lowering themselves onto the bed and searching out every inch of each other with their mouths slowly. There was no rush, no hurry to get it done and over with; just tender touches and gentle investigations, learning each other’s body languidly. Clint’s hips lifted off the bed when Phil finally stripped him of his boxers, freeing his hard cock with a groan as it pressed into Phil’s groin.

Clint trailed his lips down Phil’s body as he gently turned him onto his back, his hands running soothingly over soft skin; along the subtle dips that defined where the muscles of his abdomen were, across his chest to tease and rub against small taut nipples, grinning against Phil’s hipbone when the man moaned and arched his body up off the bed. He kissed further down, pausing to nuzzle his cheek against the thick hardness lying flat against Phil’s lower abdomen, before going lower still.

He glowed with each gasp and quiet groan of pleasure he pulled from Phil. Whether it was from swallowing him down and teasing around the tip with his tongue, or from working him open with gentle thrusts, wiggles, and scissoring of his fingers. It was feeling Phil’s tight warmth wrapped around his own cock that had Clint bowing over with a stuttering breath, needing a moment to get himself back in control so things didn’t end before they could start.

Clint’s name was like a prayer on Phil’s lips as Clint rocked in and out of him, filling him so completely. Clint caught one of Phil’s hands with his own, letting their fingers entwine while his other held fast to the man’s hips, shifting their angle every so often so as to be able to hit a new spot every time, sink a little bit deeper with each thrust until Phil’s whole body began to shake and jerk under him.

With a sob of pleasure filling the room, Phil’s body jerked and arched hard one last time; ropes of hot, sticky come spurted out onto his stomach and chest, while his eyes clamped shut, his mouth hung open in a blissed-out cry. It was the most amazingly beautiful sight Clint had ever seen, and one that sent him hurtling over the edge into his own shuddering release.

Clint grabbed for the box of tissues next to his bed when they both finally regained themselves enough to move. He gently wiped the cooling come from Phil’s body, kissing him sweetly and lazily as he did so before rolling onto his back to tug the soiled condom off. He wrapped it in the used tissue and tossed them both blindly towards the wastebasket and smiled dreamily as Phil rolled to his side and nestled himself in against Clint. Arms and legs tangled with Phil’s, Clint pressed a lingering kiss to Phil’s sweat-damp forehead, leaving his lips there as he slowly drifted off to a peaceful slumber.

~*~*~*~*~

When the morning light peeked through Clint’s window and onto his bed, a gentle, wistful sigh escaped him as he pulled Phil closer, nuzzling into his flyaway hair lovingly. He was on the brink of waking up, even as he tried to fight it and to stay asleep, afraid that if he opened his eyes, he’d find that it had all just been a dream and he was still asleep on the couch. The snuggle to his chest he got in return had him smiling more and finally opening his eyes.

Phil was there, lying next to him, head resting on Clint’s chest with one arm and leg draped over him, keeping him in place and refusing to let him leave. The sun played off his hair, accentuating the highlights and giving it a near auburn glow. Sheet pooled low on their bodies, Clint allowed himself to lightly run his fingers up and down the other man’s spine gently, feeling every dip and ridge of vertebra before playing with the soft hair on the nape of his neck.

“Please don’t tickle me,” Phil mumbled, his voice obstructed by Clint’s shoulder as he nestled himself even closer.

Clint smiled, chuckling softly. “Didn’t know you’re ticklish. This is good information to have.”

Phil’s head lifted just enough to level him with a sleepy glare that was probably supposed to be threatening but really was more adorable than anything else. Clint laughed again, tightening his hold on Phil and shifting until the man was completely atop him, legs nestled between legs, and he could pull him down for a gentle goodmorning kiss.

“You’re snuggly when you sleep, you know that?” He asked, nudging his nose against Phil’s.

“I’ve been compared to a touch-starved kitten, so...yeah, I had at least a vague idea I am.”

Clint’s heart broke a little at those words. His face falling a bit, he reached his hand up to brush knuckles across Phil’s cheek, watching as the man’s eyes fell shut and he leaned his head into the touch yet again.

“I guess I never thought about how a guy who’s surrounded by people twenty-four-seven could be starved for anything,” he murmured, his thumb stroking just under Phil’s eye.

Staying quiet for a minute, Phil let Clint hold him before he rolled to the side and onto his back, a heavy sigh escaping him as he stared at the ceiling. Clint wasn’t sure what he’d said wrong, but there was a distinct difference in the man lying next to him than there was just a few minutes ago. Turning onto his side, he propped himself on his elbow, free hand coming to rest on Phil’s chest comfortingly.

“This is usually the part where people realize they didn’t go to bed with their favorite character, they went to bed with a real person, and decide reality can’t compare with the dream.” Phil’s eyes turned to meet Clint’s, disappointment and rejection already showing in them. “Do you want me to leave?”

Eyes wide in surprise, Clint shook his head quickly, fingers curling into the short coarse hairs on Phil’s chest.

“What? No. Phil, I told you that you were welcome to stay here, for however long you wanted. I mean that. I knew coming to bed with you last night that it was _you_ I was sleeping with, not some fictional character on the screen.” Leaning down, Clint pressed his lips to Phil’s again, pouring everything he had into the action to try and prove just how much he cared and how badly he wanted Phil-the-regular-person to stay with him.

Clinging and grasping, Clint finally pulled off for air, burying his face in Phil’s neck while the other man held onto him for dear life.

“If I could keep you here --”

“I’d stay if I could --”

“Stay another day? One more day of normalcy with me?” Clint pleaded, his own voice tight with held-in emotions as he kissed and nosed his way down Phil’s neck and shoulder. Phil’s fingers curled into Clint’s thick hair, leg wrapped around Clint’s waist to hold him in place as Phil pressed his face into Clint’s neck, nodding wordlessly.

Settling between Phil’s legs again, Clint vowed to do everything in his power to help sate some of that desperate need to be wanted and needed, not because of who he was as an actor, but because of who he was as a human being: the man so many people seemed to forget was behind all their favorite characters.

~*~*~*~*~

James “Bucky” Barnes lofted an eyebrow as he sat in the coffee shop with his two best friends. Just back from a six-month deployment and officially honorably discharged from the Army, he was still getting a feel for being back in the old neighborhood again. Things hadn’t changed much since he left, but after being in the Army for eight years, getting used to civilian life again was anything but easy.

At least he had his friends to help. And to catch him up on all the happenings that he missed while he was gone.

“Wait just a fuckin’ minute. Lemme get this straight. Clint Barton is currently in Bed-Stuy, with _the_ Phil Coulson? Movie star, philanthropist, and all around Golden Boy of Hollywood?”

Natasha smiled around her teacup, nodding before taking a sip.

“You’re so full of shit, Nat. There’s no way.”

Beside Natasha, Steve Rogers shook his head, golden blond hair swishing slightly back and forth. “She’s not lying. I saw him walking down the street yesterday while I was on my jog. Walked right up to their building and rang the buzzer before heading in.”

Darting his blue eyes back and forth between the pair, Bucky shook his head again only to stop quickly and lean over the table closer to the two.

“Clint is fucking Phil Coulson? Jesus Fuck…” He sat back in his chair, hand running down his face as a proud laugh escaped him. “Good for him! It’s about damn time the boy got laid again! It’s been how long since Bobbi? Eight years? Something like that? Guy needed to get some. Just never would have thought he’d be getting it with Phil fucking Coulson.”

The trio continued to laugh and talk over their morning drinks, unaware that sitting at the next table over, a down on his luck journalist was already typing away on his phone, bringing up the only Clint Barton to reside in Bed-Stuy and planning the headline that was sure to turn things around for him.

~*~*~*~*~

“So, you grew up in Iowa?” Phil asked, his head in Clint’s lap as they lounged on the couch, Clint’s fingers carding through his hair gently.

“Mhmm. Mostly, anyway. Barney and I thought it’d be a good idea to run away at one point. Made it as far as Rock Island, Illinois before we got picked up and shipped back to a foster home again.”

Phil hummed softly, eyes falling shut.

“Sounds like it was a pretty shit way to grow up, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was hard, yeah, but,” Clint shrugged, his hand coming to rest lightly on Phil’s chest. “It taught me a lot of things, ya know? How to take care of myself, manage what little money I had. Plus, I never would have learned how to shoot a bow if it hadn’t been for one of the group homes we got tossed into. So, I kind of learned to look at it as a blessing in disguise.”

Slate-grey eyes opened to smile up at him, a hand falling over top of his own to give it a gentle squeeze. Looking down, Clint couldn’t help but return the soft grin.

“That’s actually a pretty good way to look at things.” Phil murmured, bringing Clint’s hand up to his lips to kiss gently before turning his head to glance back at the TV.

Thumb stroking along Phil’s sternum, Clint carefully shifted in place, getting himself comfortable again as they quietly watched whatever crappy show was currently playing. He was trying hard not to let himself get too comfortable with having Phil there with him, reminding himself that by the next morning the man would be gone again, possibly out of his life forever, back to his world of the glamour and shine while Clint went back to psychotic would-be thieves and a smart-mouthed teenaged employee.

Until then though, he was going to enjoy their quiet time together and pretend that the day was never going to end.

The show dragged on, Phil occasionally asking something else about Clint’s childhood --what Barney was like before their parents died, how long it’d been since they last spoke, if he thought they might ever reconcile-- and Clint answering each question quietly, trying not to spoil their relaxed mood. He asked Phil a few questions of his own, too --did he always want to be an actor, what would he do if he didn’t act anymore, what life was like for him before he landed his first big role. For the most part, they simply enjoyed each other’s company.

A sudden knock at his door was the only thing to disrupt their quiet time.

Groaning, Clint patted Phil’s chest for him to sit up before he moved to see who was at the door. Peeking through the peephole, he glanced back to Phil and shrugged apologetically.

“Tenant. Probably something wrong with a pipe or something. Hang on.”

Phil gave an understanding nod as he curled up on the couch, smirking as Lucky climbed up to take Clint’s spot and nestle into the actor’s side. Clint glared the dog down before he opened the door and stepped into the line of sight, blocking Phil from the elderly woman’s view. Not that he figured she might know who Phil was, or be able to see him for that matter, but still, it kept him out of sight of anyone else who might pass by in the hall.

“Miss Barnaby, what can I do for you, ma’am?”

A bony finger jabbed into his chest hard, pushing him off balance for a moment and Clint swore under his breath, forgetting just how strong the old bird still was.

“You can get those men off the doorstep. They’re blocking the door and making it impossible for people to get in and out. They’re a fire hazard.”

Clint frowned, hand still rubbing the spot she’d poked at.

“What men on the doorstep?”

“The ones with the cameras. They’re a hazard and invading on people’s privacy. You’re the landlord; make them leave. Call the authorities on them. I have to take Pookey for her walk and I’m afraid those heathens will step on her if I try to get by them.”

The color drained from Clint’s face, his blood cold and still in his veins. Men with cameras, camped out on the front steps. It couldn’t be. How the hell could it be the vultures he’d promised Phil wouldn’t be dumb enough to show up?

Shoving past the woman, Clint darted into the hall and through the open door across from his.

“No, no no no, this isn’t happening, no…” He prayed, ignoring the yipping little Pomeranian as he looked out Miss Barnaby’s livingroom window and down at the front steps. At least twenty different men stood about, cameras at the ready, looking all around the street and up at the windows, hoping to snap a shot of Phil.

A heavy knot tied itself up in the pit of Clint’s stomach. Palms sweating, he looked to Miss Barnaby and shook his head. His throat was tight and dry, tongue suddenly feeling too big for his mouth.

“I...can’t. There’s nothing I can do. They...fuck…”

Hand shaking, Clint gripped his hair as he moved back for his own apartment, not sure how he was going to tell Phil about this.

“Just...don’t go outside, Miss Barnaby. I...I’ll figure something out. Just...take Pookey out later, okay? Or I’ll take her out later when I take Lucky or...I dunno just...just don’t...shit…” His door clicked shut on his bewildered older neighbor’s face, back pressed against the smooth wood as he stared straight across the room at his own windows.

Phil sat up straighter on the couch, eyes glued to Clint and a look of concern evident on his face.

“Clint? Everything okay? What’s going on out there?”

Forehead crinkled and eyes full of regret and apology, Clint shook his head. He could feel himself shaking like a leaf as he pushed off the door and stepped towards Phil again, hand out stretched for him.

“Phil, I...I’m sorry. I’m _so sorry_! I don’t...I don’t how they could have…there’s no _way_ that anyone should have figured out where you--”

In an instant, Phil was on his feet, realization falling on his face as he stared Clint down coldly.

“The fucking paparazzi?”

Clint flinched visibly at the ice in Phil’s tone, hesitantly nodding. The string of curses that filled the air could have made the most seasoned sailor blush as Phil stormed into Clint’s room to change clothes, snatching his cellphone off the breakfast counter as he went. Lips rolled between his teeth, Clint moved to follow, hoping to maybe smooth things over a little.

“Look, Phil...you don’t have to leave. They’ll get bored eventually. They don’t even know for sure you’re here. I could call the cops. Technically they’re loitering on private prop--”

“ _Technically_ the cops don’t have to do _shit_ , Clint!” Phil fumed, chucking the Star Wars shirt he’d been wearing towards the still rumpled bed, where just a few short hours before they’d been making love for a second time.

“Did you miss the part of the conversation we had last night where I said the cops aren’t gonna do a damn thing because I’m fucking Phil Coulson; it gives those bloodsuckers every right on God’s damn green Earth to loiter and stalk the hell out of me? Because I’m pretty sure I mentioned something about that when I showed up.” He yanked on his jeans, flopping himself down on Clint’s bed to pull on his socks and look around for his shoes.

Clint took a cautious step forward, worrying at his bottom lip.

“You could still stay? It’s really not that bad. I mean, there’s not even all that many of them. Only about twenty or so. That’s...that’s not terrible, in comparison to what it could be, right?” He tried for an easy smile, even as his stomach churned and roiled, making him feel lightheaded and sick.

Phil’s eyes burned like fire as they shot back up to meet his.

“Oh. Well. If there’s _only_ twenty, then that means there’s _only_ about three _hundred_ different places and ways for my picture to show up on some trashy supermarket tabloid then. And if they’ve figured out who I’m with, then there’re going to be all those rumors of me being gay, sleeping with random men while on location, having sordid affairs with guys the world over. Right, of course it’s no big deal.” He stormed past Clint, shoving his way back into the living room, phone in hand as he called for a cab to come get him.

Turning to follow, Clint was desperate to make Phil stop and listen to him. He grabbed for the man’s arm, eyes shining bright with pain.

“Phil, please? Just stop? Calm down, it--”

“Stop it, Clint! I’m not calming down, okay? This is fine for you, you don’t have to deal with the fallout from this. In a day, two days, a week from now, people are going to forget you again. You’ll be just another face in the crowd, but me? Any time anything gets written about me, people are going to know about this. I’ve managed to keep my personal life mostly personal for the past two and a half decades. Managed to keep my sexuality out of the public’s eyes for the past two and a half decades. Now, it’s going to be all out there, and you’re telling me to calm down? No, you don’t get to tell me to calm down, because this isn’t _your life_ that’s about to be ruined. It’s _mine._ ”

Clint’s heart dropped to his feet, and the light faded from his eyes as he swallowed hard and blinked. Harsh reality slapped him hard in the face and made him feel about three inches tall. Eyes glancing downwards, he nodded, hands fidgeting in front of him as he tried to keep the raw, hurt emotions from his eyes.

“Right...I, guess I shouldn’t tell you to calm down if you really think your life is now ruined because of me. Then, I should apologize...I guess. Never meant to ruin your life,” His voice betrayed the hurt and sadness he was trying to hide from view as he shrugged and looked back up to meet Phil’s eyes.

There was a coldness there that had Clint quickly glancing away, stepping to the side so he wasn’t blocking the door anymore. Hands balled up at his side, he swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“I’m sorry, Phil.”

Phil stayed quiet for a long moment before huffing harshly, his head shaking as he grabbed his shoes and started for the door.

“Whatever, Clint. Just...whatever…”

The sound of Clint’s door shutting was loud in his suddenly too quiet apartment. Heartbroken and defeated, he stood in his living room, listening sadly as a car horn honked outside the building, followed by the shouts and yells of twenty obnoxious photographers trying to get a picture as Phil no doubt shoved his way to the waiting car. It was only as the cries faded that Clint’s knees gave out and he slumped to the floor, eyes staring sightlessly at his bedroom door; a cold, empty void filling up the place where his heart belonged and pulling him into a numb abyss.

How big of a fuck-up in life could one man be?


	3. Chapter 3

Days turned to weeks turned to months. Clint lost track of most of the time, always too busy lost in his own personal hell of guilt and regret, wishing he could have done things differently or forced Phil to stay somehow. Not like it would have mattered in the end, but, he still couldn’t help replaying those final moments between him and Phil over and over in his head.

Natasha, Bucky, and Steve all apologized up and down, bluer than blue when they found out they’d been the cause for Phil’s freakout and the paparazzi finding out where he was hiding out. They did what they could to make it up to Clint, helping him any way they could to get him over his hurt. Nothing they did worked. Not the blind dates they set him up on, not helping him out in the shop so he could take a few days off to escape --which a fat lot of good that did, all he managed to do on those days off was sit in his apartment, watching Phil’s movies and slipping himself further into madness.

Hailey and her mom would come to the shop every so often to check out equipment and to sign up for his summer archery clinic. Maggie reassured him that what had happened hadn’t been his fault and swore that Phil missed him just as much as Clint missed Phil. It was a nice sentiment, but Clint didn’t believe it for a minute. Still, he played nice for them, helping Hailey out with regaining strength in her arm so she could shoot her bow properly again, even going so far as to helping her secure a place on the women’s Olympic tryout team.

Still, Clint had become a shell of the man he once was. Even Wade had stopped coming into the store to try and lift things (though whether that was because of Clint’s sullen change or because he’d finally been picked up by the cops, no one really knew for sure). Life really didn’t hold much worth for him anymore. It was pathetic to think like that, but it was true. Phil had successfully managed to stomp him down with just a few sharp words and cold stares; actions that haunted him any time he closed his eyes at night. He’d messed up the man’s life royally, and no one could tell him it wasn’t his fault and make him believe it.

~*~*~*~*~

Sitting at the bar, he rolled his beer between his hands while Tony Stark yammered on and on at his side about one thing or another. Tilting the bottle back to take a long pull, Clint closed his eyes to zone out, letting the bitter hops slide down his throat and allowing himself to think back to a time when a different salty-bitter taste filled his mouth. Really not the best thing to be thinking about in public, but, at least it kept him from being bored to tears by whatever his eccentric friend kept yakking about.

At least until one phrase snuck past his guard and filled his head.

“So, Phil Coulson’s back in town filming a new movie,” Tony’s voice was light and conversational, a coy smirk playing at his lips as Clint suddenly spit his beer across the bar and choked on what was left in his throat.

Eyes wide, he stared at his friend, wiping his mouth embarrassedly.

“What?”

“Mm. That Coulson guy you’re so hung up on. He’s back in town. Well, in Manhattan, actually. Filming some new spy movie or some shit. They’re using my dad’s old mansion as some museum setting or something, I dunno. I just know I stopped by there this morning and saw your boytoy struttin’ around in a damn fine suit, acting like he owned the place.”

Clint’s heart leapt to his throat. It’d been a full year since he’d last seen Phil, at least outside of the movie theater on the silver screen. His hands suddenly turned clammy as he picked up the dishrag that had been dropped by his elbow and proceeded to clean up the mess he’d made.

“Huh...that’s uhm...that’s,”

“Don’t even try to pretend you’re not interested, Barton. I can practically see your heart beating out of your chest. You’re pathetic. Go over there and get him. It’s been a year, if he hasn’t forgiven you, then fuck it. He can go to hell.”

Worrying at his lip, Clint took a breath. It was the chance he’d been waiting for, obviously. A chance to find out if maybe with any luck, Phil’d forgiven him and they could hopefully work things out. Maybe things couldn’t go back to what they had started to have, but, he was willing to settle with friendship if that was all Phil could offer him. Long shot as it was, he felt his stomach flip-flop with want to know; needing to know for sure if there was even a remote chance that he could someday at least be able to say that Coulson was his friend.

Tony sighed as he sipped from his gin and tonic, a piece of paper playing in his fingers that he passed across the smooth wood bar to Clint.

“I might have also mentioned that I’m a friend of yours, and he may or may not have given me this for you. Said he was in town to film and for his niece’s birthday or something, I dunno. Anyway, doesn’t matter, guy gave me a pass to give you so you can get your sorry, pathetic, lovesick ass onto set and see him.”

Hope suddenly surged in Clint’s chest, the aching void that had been settled in there for the past year warmed and filled with a beating heart he thought he’d never feel again. He snatched the paper from Tony’s fingers and stared at it. ‘All Access’ was hand written across the top with ‘PJC’ scribbled in the bottom right corner, proof that Phil himself had given permission for Clint to be there.

Clint jumped from his barstool, kissing Tony hard on the cheek before he bolted out the door, determined to _run_ to the Upper West Side if he had to. Phil was back, and wanted to see him, and that was all that mattered.

~*~*~*~*~

The Stark family mansion was elegant and old world-ish, the perfect setting for a spy movie if Clint had ever seen one. It had long since been turned into a historical site by the city, a monument to Howard Stark and his inventions that gave so much to the world as a whole. The lawn and street were all barricaded off, making sure no onlookers snuck onto the scene and ruined a shot, or worse tried to steal anything.

Heart hammering his chest, Clint wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans as he stepped up to the first row of sawhorses and nodded to the giant of a man standing guard. For a moment, he feared the man would squash him and toss him to the gutter before he had a chance to even show him the pass. Instead, he gave a mildly pleasant smile and nod to him, moving the barricade to the side for him as soon as the little piece of paper came into sight.

Clint awkwardly stepped past the gates and looked around, watching in awe as Phil stepped into sight, a script in his hand and aviators guarding his eyes from the bright midday sun. For a moment, he wondered if Phil had seen him or if he’d made a mistake by showing up. He couldn’t have though, not if the man had given Tony the pass for him. When a faint smile curled at the corners of Phil’s lips, Clint knew he’d been spotted and there was no turning back.

He waved, a small smile of his own in place as he wiped his hands on his jeans again and stepped forward to meet Phil halfway. God, Tony hadn’t been lying. Phil was dressed to kill in what was clearly a custom-tailored suit that no doubt cost more than Clint could make in a year. He wanted to reach out and touch him, find out if Phil would still lean into his hand the same way he used to. It was only the entourage of people who followed the actor that kept Clint from doing so. Last thing he wanted was for someone to get twitchy and think he was about to slug Phil or something, then wind up on the wrong end of a taser.

Phil was the first to break the silence between them when it seemed it could drag on for ages.

“Clint, hi…”

Not exactly Academy winning dialog, but Clint didn’t care. Hearing his name on Phil’s lips again was good enough for him.

“Hey, uhm...Tony said that you were here, and he gave me the pass you’d made for me. I...thanks, for that.”

“No, thank you. For coming. I...was kind of afraid after last time, I mean, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t shown up.” Phil took a deep breath, clearly trying to calm his own rabid nerves. “I’m glad you did.”

“Yeah, me too. You look good.” Clint’s twitching fingers curled into the hem of his T-shirt tightly, trying desperately not to reach and pull Phil in for a tight embrace and beg him not to leave again.

“Likewise,” Phil answered softly, eyes glancing down to where those knobby fingers were curled up in the fabric of Clint’s shirt before lifting to meet the slightly taller man’s eyes again. “I don’t have a whole lot of time right now, but, how have you been? How’s the shop?”

“It’s good. Uh, actually, sold it to Tony about six months ago to keep it from being bought by the bank, but...he at least lets me keep running it.” Clint shrugged nonchalantly, as if it didn’t bother him as badly as it actually did that the one good endeavour in his life had flopped so badly that his billionaire friend had to bail him out from financial ruin.

“I see your niece pretty often. The shop is actually sponsoring her in the Olympic tryouts coming up. She’s got a real shot at it. Could wind up being better than me some day if she keeps it up.”

Phil huffed a quiet laugh as he nodded, a slight smile still playing on his lips even as he glanced back at Clint from under his dark lashes, aviators hanging from the knot of his tie.

“I seem to remember hearing her mention something about that the last time I talked to her. That’s great. I’m glad you guys are doing that for her. It means a lot, really.”

Beside him, a small mousy-looking girl with dark, hipster glasses cleared her throat, giving Phil a pointed look as she tapped her wrist. Clint took a step back quickly, glancing off towards where most of the action was going to be happening. He looked back to Phil with a half smile in place as he shrugged.

“You’re busy. I should--”

“Stay. I really wanna talk to you, Clint. Just...I gotta get these last few scenes in the can. But, stick around, please? Darcy can get you hooked up with some headphones or something.”

Clint nodded, watching wordlessly as Phil was swept away from him and ushered quickly down the drive. A hand caught him by the elbow, pulling him off towards a small tent where a man with a flat screen was sitting, headphones around his neck, and watching through the playback of what they’d already filmed.

“C’mon loverboy, you get to sit over here with Cecil B. and watch all the action from there.”

After being fitted with a headphone pack, Clint settled himself in the chair he’d been offered and took a deep breath to calm the butterflies in his stomach. Phil was still gorgeous, and moved like a man in control even while the cameras weren’t running. He slipped the padded headphones over his ears, adjusted the sound and grinned like a fool when Phil’s voice suddenly was all around him.

It wasn’t anything exciting to listen to just yet, the joking jabs of two co-stars razzing each other over scenes and past flubs that were sure to make the gag reel later. Still, it was enough to send Clint’s heart skipping, just listening to Phil’s quiet laugh and picturing the tight lipped smile he no doubt was trying to hide by ducking his head. That mental image alone brought a grin to his own face. When the cohort made mention of Phil’s sexuality though, the smile began to fall ever so slightly and his chest tightened painfully.

“So, now that you’re ‘Out and Proud’, you planning to take any roles with a gay scene?” Phil’s co-star questioned, a smirk playing on his face while they leaned against the sports car Phil was suppose to drive.

Phil’s shoulders lifted and fell as he folded his arms over his chest, eyes staring straight out in front of him, watching the stunt doubles rehearse for their fight scene. “I dunno, probably. Maybe. Depends on what it was and how it was written.”

The co-star snorted and shook his head. “Well, you’re a decent enough actor, and it shouldn’t be too much of a stretch for you to play out a scene with another guy.”

“Heh, right, because the world wants to see a forty-something year old guy in a love scene with another guy.” Though his answer was nonchalant, there was an underlying tenseness to it that Clint caught and twisted his stomach in guilt. Maybe Phil hadn’t really forgiven him after all.

Beside Phil, his male co-star shrugged before taking a gulp of water and handing the bottle off to his assistant. Attention turning back to Phil, the man tilted his head one way, then the other, loosening up for his grand entrance into the scene. “You’d be surprised. And if the other guy was hot enough, like that fella you were talking to a few minutes ago. Get him to do the scene and people would watch. Who was he, anyway?”

Clint’s heart jumped to his throat and froze there as he stared off towards the direction Phil and the other man were standing, waiting for their cues. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting or hoping to hear as an answer, but whatever it was, it had to have been better than the reality of it.

”Him?” Phil asked, finally stealing a glance to the man next to him. Phil shrugged. “Nobody. Just a local who’s helping my niece out. Friend of the guy who use to own this place. That’s all.”

“Fan charity case then?” The co-star asked, laughing out loud at the thought; apparently not thinking very highly of fans or charity.

There was a tense moment of silence before Phil answered, “Yeah, something like that.”

Clint’s heart sunk lower than it had ever sunk before. His foolish pride and heart had been stupid enough to think things would be different, and that he wouldn’t be broken all over again. He was wrong. So painfully wrong.

Taking a breath, he switched the sound off on the pack in his hand, tugged the headphones off and stood up, handing them back to the man he’d gotten them from. With a quiet thank you and apology, he turned, slipping off between the trailers and back out onto the street before anyone even noticed he was gone.

So that was that, then. He would have to force himself to get over Phil and move on with his life. He was nobody, after all, just a fan who thought he stood a chance with someone so far out of his league it wasn’t even funny.

~*~*~*~*~

Katie sat on the register counter, her chin propped on her hand as she watched Clint rearrange quivers for the eighth time in an hour. He hadn’t said a word to anyone since returning from the movie set; hadn’t even so much as made eye contact with anyone or broken into a lopsided smirk. Instead, he’d instantly set himself to work and ignored the rest of the world.

She worried at her bottom lip when the bell above the door jingled and a man dressed in dark jeans and a black jacket stepped into the shop. No ball cap, no sunglasses, nothing to hide who he was this time, just sad grey eyes and a concerned furrow between his brows as he looked around the shop and finally spotted Clint.

Ignoring the gaping woman about to fall off the counter, Phil stepped up to Clint’s side.

“Hi, I was hoping you could help me find a present for my niece. It’s her birthday,”

Clint slowly turned his head, leveling Phil with a blank look as he shrugged and nodded off towards the counter. “Gift cards are over there. They make great presents.”

“Clint--”

Spinning on his heels, Clint glared. Every last hurt and raw emotion evident in his eyes as he stared Phil down; his jaw clenched tight and hands braced at his sides to keep from hitting him, he frowned and shook his head.

“No. Don’t even try. Okay? Look, I get that I’m just a nobody, a washed up could-have-been, but that doesn’t mean you have to call me a ‘fan charity case’ to your costars, okay?” He snapped, watching as the words cut into Phil, making the man step back and blink in surprise.

“Yeah, I heard you. And you know what, it hurt, okay? I--”

“Clint, it’s not like that!” Phil exclaimed, eyes wide and hurt evident on his own face. “I might be somewhat okay with people knowing I’m gay, but do you really think I wanted to talk about my personal life with the biggest jackass on the planet? I didn’t say it to hurt you. Jesus Clint, I,” He paused, running his hand through his hair as he took a breath. “I wanted to see you! I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you! About the way I reacted the last time we were together. It wasn’t fair to you and I’m sorry. I wanted to see you so I could apologize, and hope that maybe you’d give me another chance.”

There was an equal amount of pain in Phil’s eyes as he reached a hand out, aborting the action before it could land on Clint’s shoulder.

Clint watched with carefully-schooled features as Phil swallowed hard and took a shaking breath.

“You’re the only person in the world, outside of family, who ever bothered to treat me like a human being. Like a normal person, with feelings and who needed reassuring in life. You made me remember what it was like to spend a lazy day on the couch being held and touched like I was precious and important. Clint, I,” Phil’s voice broke as he looked away and gave a choked up laugh, “I wanted to beg you to forgive me, and ask you to give me another chance, and maybe you could find it in your heart to even love me? The way I’ve fallen in love with you?”

Behind them, Katie whimpered, her feet connecting with the floor behind the counter as she scooted into Clint’s office, no doubt to call everyone they knew and tell them what was happening. Clint ignored her though, the way he had all afternoon.

He stared at Phil, feeling like his chest was being torn into a thousand different pieces. Slowly, he shook his head.

“I can’t have my heart broken again, Phil. Not by you. Not again. And let’s be real, it’s bound to happen eventually, right? I mean, I’m always going to be that fucked up orphan kid from Iowa, who lives and works on the wrong side of the tracks, and you’re always going to be...you. Always living in the sunshine and palm trees with people fawning over you night and day. I can’t…” He cut himself off, shaking his head painfully as he looked away. “I just can’t, Phil. I’m sorry…”

Clint couldn’t bring himself to look at Phil again, afraid that if he did, he’d break his own resolve and tackle the man, kiss him senseless and apologize again and again. Lips pressed together, he slipped his hands into his pockets and pulled a shaky breath in.

“Wish Hailey a happy birthday for me. It was good seeing you again, Phil. Take care.” Turning sharply, Clint made his way into the back room, hiding himself away in a far corner to pull himself back together again.

It took a moment before the bell above the door jingled again and Katie appeared by his side. Her arms crossed over her chest, face scrunched into an expression of pure irritation and disgust, she kicked at his foot hard enough to make him yelp.

“Good, you do still have feelings. It’s hard to tell after what you just pulled out there.”

“Leave it, Kate. It doesn’t involve you.”

“Wrong. Whatever this is that’s happening is making you miserable, and a pain in the ass to work with, thus making me miserable, so therefore, it does involve me. I can’t believe you! That was beautiful and you just--”

Clint stood quickly, shoving past her to grab his keys and jacket from his office with a scowl. Without a word, he stormed from the shop, fully intent to go drown his sorrows in a few dozen beers. At least until he filled the gaping hole in his chest.

~*~*~*~*~

Natasha frowned, glaring at Clint from over her steepled fingertips. Her green eyes were narrowed and sharp, boring into the side of his head like throwing knives. “Phil came into the shop to apologize for all the fuck ups he’d done that caused you pain, and you tell him to get lost?”

“Basically,” Clint nodded, gulping and looking up at the ceiling of his best friend’s new place. She wouldn’t let him have anything to drink as soon as she found out his reasons for wanting something. It was stupid, and he hated her for it.

“You’re an idiot. You. Are. An idiot.”

Heart heavy and a rock in the pit of his stomach, Clint groaned, rolling himself into a ball on her couch. Those weren’t the words he’d been hoping to hear. He’d been wanting to hear her support his actions, tell him he was better off without Phil and that he’d been right in figuring he was just going to get his heart broken again.

“He said he was in love with you, Clint, and you told him to fuck off. I can’t believe you. An incredible man said he was in love with you, and you--”

“Told him to fuck off. Yes. Can we please move on to the part where you tell me I did good and that I shouldn’t feel bad for doing what I did?”

“You’re an idiot and you’re going to regret this for the rest of your life.”

Clint lifted his head, eyes open just enough to glare back at her as he scowled.

“Can we please stop reminding me how big of an idiot I am, now, please?”

Posture straightening, Natasha flicked her red hair over her shoulder, shaking her head just slightly before standing to press her knee into Clint’s chest. Successfully pinning him to the couch, she bent her head, getting not more than an inch from his face.

“Do you admit you are going to regret this for the rest of your life?” Her tone was low, predatory even.

Not wanting her knee to suddenly move south on him, Clint nodded quickly. “Already regretting it and wishing I weren’t such an idiot, and please don’t hurt me.”

Her knee dropped from off his chest, allowing him to scramble up as she turned to saunter off to her kitchen area. Her back to him, Natasha let a wicked little smirk cross her face for just a split second before looking back over her shoulder, watching Clint sit up and put his head in his hands.

He did look truly pathetic as he was. She hated it when he looked pathetic.

“You do know,” She mused outloud, grabbing a bottle of water from her fridge, “the New York Comic Con is going on right now, right?”

“So…?”

“And that Steve and Bucky are working security in one of the Q&A exhibit halls?”

“Nat, what’s that got to do with anything?” Clint’s head snapped up to level her with a fierce glare. How the hell did they even get on that topic in the first place? Weren’t they just talking about how badly he fucked up his one chance at true happiness?

He watched her lean shoulders rise and fall elegantly.

“Nothing. Except for the part where Phil Coulson’s supposed to be at one of the panels this afternoon to promote that new spy movie he’s still working on.”

It took a full minute for those words to sink in, then for the previous statement to follow it. Steve and Bucky were working security at the Comic Con. Eyes suddenly wide, Clint was on his feet and darting for the door.

“I gotta go! Call them for me! I gotta talk to Phil! Nat, I love you! Naming my first born after you!” He yelled, already half way down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Never before had Clint ever been so grateful that Natasha had moved out of Brooklyn and into Alphabet City across the river. True, it was still the full width of Manhattan away from where he wanted to be, but it was at least closer than it would have been before.

Walking it would take him an hour to get there, and that was if he didn’t manage to hit every “Do Not Walk” along the way. He ran as fast and as far as he could, forcing himself to keep going when he felt his knees start to turn to jello. Three miles wasn’t going to happen on foot, not all at once.

Diving into the first open cab he saw, Clint struggled for breath, shakily swiping his credit card through the reader.

“J-Javits...C-Center.”

“Javits Center? Are you nuts, pal? That place’s swamped. Be faster for you just to walk!”

“I don’t care! Get me as close as you can, okay? Just drive!”

Rolling his eyes, the cabbie flipped the meter on as he swerved back out into traffic and started off for the convention center. Clint’s phone buzzed half way there with a text from Bucky, instructing him where to go to meet Steve in order to get in. Phil’s panel wasn’t due to start for another half hour, if he could get there fast, there was a chance Steve could get him into the exhibit hall just as it was starting.

Hope swelled in Clint’s chest. He could do it. He was going to make it. The center was only fifteen minutes away, there was plenty of time. Knees bouncing, Clint tapped his phone on his thighs as he watched intersection after intersection pass by. This was it. He was definitely going to make it.

The cab lurched to a halt, the driver reaching over to flick the meter off and glance back at him.

“End of the line, bub.”

Clint stared in horror at the back up of cars in front of them. The last half mile between him and the convention center was a parking lot and nothing but red brake lights, honking horns, and screaming cabbies. Heart jumping to his throat, he groaned as he shoved out of the car, not even bothering to shut the door as he took off at a dead sprint again, weaving through the vehicles and dodging rogue bikers.

_Gotta make it, gotta make it, gotta make it,_ his heart thumped. Converses slipping on the slick corner, Clint went into a roll before popping back to his feet and into his sprint once more. He had the crew door in sight, Steve’s massive frame taking up much of it as he waited for Clint to get there.

“Steve!”

“Clint! The panel’s already started! C’mon, I can still get you in.” Taking Clint by the arm, Steve nearly dragged the smaller man down the halls and corridors until they were outside the massive hall where Phil was seated with the rest of his castmates, already engaged in their question and answer session.

Pulling Clint off to one side, Steve had him stay put while he rushed off to talk to the stage manager. Clint wasn’t sure what his friend was saying, he didn’t care, his eyes were glued to the stage where Phil was sitting, smiling politely and answering any questions that came his way. Though he appeared to be enjoying himself, Clint could see the dullness of his eyes in the jumbotron behind them and knew that he’d been the cause of it.

A man off to the left of the stage announced that they had time for just one more question just as a mic was shoved into Clint’s hand, Steve’s broad hand shoving him forward and motioning to the MC to cut the other mics save for that one.

Suddenly stricken with fear, Clint stared like a deer in the headlights at the stage. All eyes of the cast were on him, waiting expectantly.

“Uh, h-hi. I uhm...I don’t...it’s not really a question, I guess...it’s…” He paused, taking a deep breath and finally gathering every ounce of courage he had before taking another step forward, his face suddenly appearing on the screen.

“It’s an apology. To Phil.” A wave of confused murmurs went through the audience as the rest of the cast all looked to their costar.

Phil kept his features blank, even as his eyes slowly started to brighten again hopefully.

“See, I know for a fact that, New York hasn’t exactly been kind to you the last few times you’ve been here. It’s been kind of like hell for you, actually, and on behalf of the city of New York, I wanted to apologize for that. But also...I wanted to apologize for the son of a bitch who let his stupid pride get in the way when you put your heart out there for him. He was an idiot and I know for a fact that he’s regretting it so much. And, I was kind of hoping that maybe you’d give him another chance? Please?” Clint swallowed hard, eyes bright and pleading.

“Because...see, he’s kind of been hopelessly in love with you since the moment you stepped foot into his crappy little archery shop in Bed-Stuy, and he’s hoping that you can forgive him for being scared and stupid and maybe love him as much as he loves you?”

The audience fell quiet, a tension settling over the entire room as the camera turned back to Phil. For a moment, the man stayed perfectly still, not even so much as blinking as he stared over the heads of the first row of people and straight at Clint. Clint’s heart hammered loudly in his chest, his blood rushing past his ears in a thunderous roar as he waited for some kind of reaction from the man. Even if it was just to tell him to get lost.

Finally, just as Clint was getting ready to nod and pass the mic back off to Steve, Phil leaned forward, eyes still glued to his as he got closer to his own microphone.

“Thanks for the apology on behalf of New York,” he started, drawing a round of laughter from the audience and snickers from his costars. “As for the guy who you’re referring to, I’m pretty sure if he’s willing to forgive me for being a jackass first, then it’s only fair that I forgive him. So...yeah, I’d love nothing more than to give you another chance, Clint.”

A wide smile broke out over Clint’s face as he started jogging for the stage, watching as Phil pushed his chair back and stood up. The camera followed Phil’s movements as he hurried to meet Clint half way, pulling him up the steps and onto the stage. In front of hundreds of people, film cast and crews, Clint wrapped his arms around Phil, hugging him in close until their mouths met in a crushing and passionate kiss.

Wild cheers and thunderous applause filled the room to a deafening level as the camera zoomed in on their faces just as they parted from the kiss. Both grinning and their foreheads propped against the other’s, the pair stood there just staring at each other happily, noses nudging as their lips moved. While the mics couldn’t pick up what they’d said over the sound of the crowd, anyone with working eyes could easily read the words coming from their mouths.

“I love you. I’m so sorry.”

“Shh...it’s okay. I’m sorry too. I love you, too, Clint.”

Sharing another giddy laugh, Clint pressed his mouth to Phil’s again, letting his eyes fall shut as he kissed the man he’d fallen so hopelessly in love with. Around them, the cheers and applause continued, even as the MC announced the end of the panel and thanked everyone for joining them.

Big-name stars and cast members filed by the pair, laughing and grinning as they continued to kiss, oblivious to the rest of the world. As the stage cleared and ushers began filing people back out into the halls, Phil pulled back just enough for air, giving Clint a chance to smirk coyly and slip his hands down into the back pockets of Phil’s jeans.

“Still need a present for Hailey?” He asked quietly, swaying them side to side to music only he heard.

Huffing a laugh, Phil nodded. “Matter of fact I do. You wouldn’t happen to know of any great archery shops around here, would you? Maybe even one run by a former Olympic gold medalist?”

Smiling, Clint leaned in again, eyes closed and lips just barely brushing over Phil’s as he held him closer. “I think I might know a little shop in Brooklyn that could work out for you.”

“Perfect…”


	4. Epilogue

Their wedding, surprisingly enough, hadn’t been anything big or spectacular. A simple, modest little affair with just their closest friends and Phil’s family. Tony had managed to leak out false information to send the vultures off on a wild goose chase in search of where the wedding and reception would be taking place, and if anyone did figure out the real location they were promptly escorted off the property and into the waiting arms of New York’s finest.

It was a slice of normalcy that Clint was able to offer Phil; a chance to feel like a regular guy, marrying the man he loved at a friend’s home in Manhattan. Clint had insisted on nothing over the top and that their wedding not wind up costing more than most people paid for rent in the city. Phil had agreed wholeheartedly, much to Stark’s dismay and objections.

In the end, it had been subtle, quiet, and absolutely perfect for them both, right down to the local band they hired for the reception and the finger foods Phil’s niece, sister-in-law, and mother had all made.

Copies of their wedding photos never leaked to the press, though there was one framed and on display in their Beverly Hills home --propped up above their fireplace along with copies of other family photos. One also sat on Clint’s desk in his office, so that he could look at it any time he was back at Archers on Fulton to help Katie take care of the place.

They split their time between California and Brooklyn; spending most summers at Clint’s Bed-Stuy apartment so that Clint didn’t have to give up his summer archery clinics, and then the harsh, cold winters they retreated back to Hollywood.

Clint would accompany Phil to all of his movie openings, feeling a bit awkward having all those cameras pointed at him and taking his picture, though his nerves would settle once Phil took his hand absently while talking and cast him a soft smile. Likewise, if Phil wasn’t busy filming a new movie or off doing promotional junkets, he would spend his lazy summers helping in the shop.

Archers on Fulton had become a near tourist attraction, people showing up in hopes of at least catching a glimpse of the actor and his husband. Phil, for the most part, took it in stride when someone would awkwardly approach him, asking for an autograph or a picture. Though, the times of that happening became less and less as more people became accustomed to Phil Coulson being a part of their little neighborhood. People soon were able to look past him as he stumbled into the twenty-four-hour corner drugstore for cold medicines for Clint; and few people batted an eye when the two of them walked down the street, dressed for a day of fun in the sun, their little boy sitting on Phil’s hip with his pudgy arms wrapped around his Dada’s neck, and soft brown hair hanging down into his eyes from under his beach-bum hat.

Clint would find himself smiling at night, sitting on the couch with Phil lying next to him, head on Clint’s lap and two-year-old Milo lying asleep on Phil’s chest, Clint’s fingers running through Phil’s hair gently as they watched TV. His mind would wander back on that day five years prior, the ordinary day that Phil walked into his little archery shop in Brooklyn and unknowingly sent their worlds spiraling, changing both their lives forever.

_Fini_


End file.
